Made Different
by MMarieRose
Summary: As they battle to rebuild lives & livelihoods in a country irrevocably changed by war, VAD Nurse Mary Crawley & convalescing Captain Matthew Crawley are swept into a web of scandal & corruption that threatens to rip the Crawley family apart. This mystery and romance weaves real historical events into a DA retelling featuring most characters & some OC's from S2.05. Some M chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**Story Synopsis**

**As they battle to rebuild their own and others' lives &amp; livelihoods in a country irrevocably changed by war, VAD Nurse Mary Crawley &amp; convalescing Captain Matthew Crawley are swept into a web of scandal &amp; corruption that threatens to rip the Crawley family apart. This mystery and romance weaves real historical events into a DA retelling featuring most characters &amp; some OC's from S2.05. Written for the WWI Centenary.**

**0-0-0-0-0-0**

When he saw her standing, singing beside the piano, he was mesmerised. It was as if no one else was there. Just Mary and her joy and elation upon seeing him safely returned. Her expression so very warm that his skin prickled.

And as she started to sing again,

_"... With nothing to mar our joy_

_I would say such wonderful things to you..."_

her sweet voice pierced his very soul. And of course, he walked to her, took her hand, and joined in.

_"There would be such wonderful things to do_

_If you were the only girl in the world_

_and I were the only boy."_

They held each other's gaze, motionless, drinking each other in, and then his lips found hers, and he tasted nectar, and her arms were around him so fiercely, so tightly that he was compelled to lift her up and swing her around. And as the shouting and cheering and cat-calls from the concert-goers came back into his consciousness, he knelt down, took her hand, and asked her to marry him. And she said yes.

0-0-0-0-0-0

It had happened again. The same dream. The same blissful happiness on awakening. Then the crushing disappointment as reality dawned. He, cold and uncomfortable in the early morning darkness of the dugout. Promised to Lavinia. She, back in the comfort and warmth of Downton. Promised to that cad, Sir Richard Carlisle.

The regret hit him first. Then the confusion. And the guilt. He groaned inwardly, and turned over, pulling the blankets over his head. For he knew now, had known since the concert, that they were both living a lie.

_January 25 1918_

_Dear Cousin Mary,_

_We have a reprieve at last and I am finally able to write for the first time in several weeks. Winter is settling in. There is a strange beauty that comes when snow covers the mud. A soft white blanket soothes the rawness of the earth and lets us forget for a precious few hours the horrors that lie beneath. The never-ending wet and ooze that traps your boots. The brutal coils of wire that lie in wait to grab at any bare flesh. Battle detritus. Splintered wood, ruined wheels, broken machinery, weapons and shrapnel. And the dead boys. So many dead boys._

Matthew crossed the last two sentences out. Damn it, the censor probably would anyway.

_The cold is biting. It seeps in under your clothes and out on patrol it's a battle to stay warm. We seem to spend most of it stamping our feet and rubbing our hands together. Our officer quarters aren't so bad. We have a stove, which we gather around to warm our hands. It's tougher out in the trenches. The men scavenge for wood and build small fires wherever they can._

_The thought of a warm bed and a feather quilt is a distant memory, and those months spent on the recruitment drive across England I now appreciate were a luxurious reprieve. While there's been some relief in returning here to France and the regiment to get on with the job that is war, there's more sadness. A lot of the lads are gone. Some injured. Many dead. Many of those remaining just plain tired._

_I hope it is not too much me writing to you of such things. It somehow helps to write them down. I could not, and would not write Lavinia of them. She cried when I departed this time and I'd hate her to worry. You, on the other hand, are made of tougher stuff and I feel I can confide in you and tell you what it's really like._

_When I re-read my words I see how melancholy they are. But mostly I'm not melancholy. William is turning out to be a superb batman. He's very calm, completely dependable, and lately he's also shown a real aptitude for strategy. We're involving him in the discussions now, and it's paying off._

_Between the battles we make our own fun. Of late, we've been holding debates. William is the dark horse. He takes a little bit of knowledge an awful long way, and he has a formidable memory. Whilst plainspoken, his arguments are perfectly formed. It's hugely enjoyable. As long as he's on my team!_

_Alex continues in good spirits, and I am thankful we are serving together again. He has become as fond of William as I, and the three of us spend much of our down time together. Alex continues to prove himself as a leader, and he has earned a real depth of respect among the men. Last week we had a day's leave during which we were able to celebrate his promotion to Lieutenant Colonel over a bottle of Krug and a delicious meal in a nearby Auberge. It was a delightful change from rations and billy tea._

_I know I've said it before but I will say it again. I am so very pleased that we are friends once more, and I am here, back at the war, a happy man as a result. And did I tell you what a fine singer you are? If I didn't, then here it is. You are a very fine singer indeed and the memory of singing with you that night William and I finally made it back brings a smile to my face every time._

_Your most affectionate cousin,_

_Matthew_

0-0-0-0-0-0

_February 3 1918_

_Dear Cousin Matthew,_

_I do hope you and William received those extra socks and the thick scarves your mother sent. She walked straight to the village post office with the parcel mere hours after I told her what you'd said of the cold in your last letter! We do worry about all of you over there, especially with the freezing temperatures of the past few weeks. And yes. I cannot pretend that your words do not shock me. But please keep writing them. I sense it must help in a small way that you are able to put them on the paper. And while they make me very sad, I am not surprised. We're seeing the aftermath of it here, daily now, the hospital expanded as it is. I do wish it would end soon for everyone's sake._

_You will be surprised at my latest news. I've just finished my third week as a VAD, talked into it by none other than Sybil of course (and just a little added encouragement from your mother). Our training is happening on the job now – there is such a shortage it is the only way. What is a surprise to myself is how much I am enjoying it. Despite how confronting it all is. The injuries we see range from minor to terrible, and some of the poor men are in considerable pain. And the shell shock cases are simply confounding. But I like that I can bring the men simple comforts like getting them clean or giving them medicine, and even just being able to give them a kind word._

_I see now why Sybil has found it so satisfying. I suspect she will want to keep nursing once the war is over too; she is so dedicated to it. She is in the midst of exams to become a fully trained nurse, which we are all confident she will achieve of course. Once she has her credentials she will be paid as a nurse for the first time and no longer just a VAD!_

_Edith's good work is continuing. You will smile when you hear it has been several months now since she and I last had an argument. We seem to have too many interests in common these days – soldier welfare at the core – and it is a far cry from the not too distant past! I must admit I do miss our sparring sessions, but both of us are so busy, and when on a break so tired, the energy one needs to argue for argument's sake just isn't there._

_Edith's latest interest is investigating new methods of treating shell shock, as those are the men who most trouble her at the home. She's been following the work of a William Rivers at Craiglockhart war hospital, and Dr Arthur Hurst at Seale Hayne. I just heard the other day the doctors up there have finally agreed with her to at least try some of the different approaches they advocate._

_Anthony Strallan writes to her often, and I sometimes wonder if their friendship is developing into something more serious. He has leave due in a month and will visit then._

_I was thinking the other day how so much has changed. Do you remember when you first arrived we all thought you very unusual for working a full week? Now all of us are, except for Papa of course! He continues to lament for life before the war. I worry for him sometimes. I sense he is unhappy he has not been offered an active army role, and Mama is so busy managing the convalescent home that they barely see each other during the day anymore._

_The hospital management work has settled into a calmer routine. Knowing I can manage it now with just a few days a week is one of the reasons I started the VAD work when I heard and saw with my own eyes how short they were for nurses. And I was bored! I wanted something else to do. I have set up proper procedures for the bookkeeper and the stores officer, and things are much more orderly. I don't know how Major Clarkson coped before without the extra support. It must have been very difficult indeed. The regular income from the Army Medical Corps is making a big difference of course, as it is enabling us to plan and put together a proper budget within which we can operate._

_Lavinia visited your mother last weekend, and we joined her for afternoon tea on the Sunday. She is very sweet, and she and Isobel get along very well indeed._

_Thank you for your compliment about my singing. I could make the same comment about you! Your mother tells me you used to sing in musicals at school and university. I can't imagine what that must have been like. No doubt very different to the small soirees Edith and myself were encouraged at. I look forward to the chance to ask you more about it when you are next on leave._

_Do take care,_

_Your affectionate cousin, Mary_

0-0-0-0-0-0

_March 15 1918_

_Dear Daisy_

_It's still cold as charity over here. I'm blessed I am accommodated with the officers, as we have a proper stove and cots and blankets. Most of the soldiers have to make do with their clothes and a blanket roll. If they are lucky, they'll have a dugout above the mud, but many of the lads don't._

_The Captain and I have been assigned special work with our commanding officer. I can't tell you much. Except that I am enjoying it and finding it very satisfying being able to use my brain and not just my hands! And quite aside from the job we are doing here, I am learning a lot from them._

_They are both very well read and generous in sharing what they know. In between the battles, there are hours and hours where we just have to sit and wait. So we spend it talking. And debating! You wouldn't believe how much they both can talk. About all sorts of things. History, politics and particularly the law. I find the law discussions the best of all. No wonder men with an education get places in life. When you know about your rights you get to exercise them. I see that now._

_The Captain and the Colonel were at Oxford University together. If I get through this war Daisy, I'd like to think my future children might have an education like that. I mean, why not? This war will change things. I just know it. I won't be content to go back to only what I had before, and there are plenty of lads around me who think just the same._

_I think of you often, and the warm kitchen at Downton and all the others. Give my regards to them all will you. My next leave is the second week of April. Lets set aside a day for a picnic shall we? See if you can fix it with Mrs Patmore now and keep it clear._

_Yours truly,_

_William_

0-0-0-0-0-0

It was an unseasonably warm early spring day, and the kitchen was almost hot, as Daisy and Mrs Patmore prepared the last of the vegetables for luncheon. Lord and Lady Grantham were expecting the company of Viscount and Lady Branksome.

Daisy was in a particularly good mood. In his last letter, William had said he had leave due in a few weeks, and he was hoping that while he was back, they could have a picnic on her day off if the weather permitted. And now she had a little under a week to wait. Daisy had felt a little thrill on reading the letter: she had a sense William had something else in mind: something that might involve a ring.

Her good mood was helped by the news from Mrs Patmore that Mr Carson had agreed to her getting a pay rise, in recognition that she was now, officially, assistant cook, and no longer just kitchen maid.

She hummed, as she trimmed and sliced the carrots and set them aside. Then she took up the bowl of leeks and winter greens, picked fresh from the gardens that morning, and began to slice them. With the vegetables finished, she took the carrots to the stove, and set them in a pot, and then returned for the greens. She had just picked up the bowl when a wave of cold came out of nowhere, and everything stopped. She saw the dust particles hanging still, sparkling, in the shaft of sunlight coming through the square pains of the high kitchen windows. She saw her work-reddened fingers, lifting from the bowl she had held so confidently only seconds before. She could see with startling clarity each scrubbed and tightly clipped nail, the crescent shape of the cuticles, the pink and white colouring.

She watched the bowl lurch and tip. Heard the loud crash and the splintering of the china. Saw the carefully sliced vegetables separate and scatter into an arc and fall down in a sea of green onto the scrubbed wooden floor.

Then she was on the floor too, the remains of the bowl, broken into three large pieces beside her. She was vaguely aware of someone whimpering.

In the distance, she heard Mrs Patmore begin to shout. "Daisy, what in heaven's name? Daisy, Daisy what is the matter? Are you all right?"

She felt herself being lifted to her feet, and there she was, being settled onto a chair and Mrs Hughes was standing over her asking, "Daisy, Daisy whatever happened? You've given us all such a fright!"

She burst into tears. "It's William, oh Mrs Hughes I just know. William's been hurt!"

Sunlight spilled through the windows of the main ward at the Downtown Auxiliary Army Hospital, putting both patients and staff in a pleasant state of mind after weeks of cold and grey. Isobel was discussing a medication concern with one of the other senior nurses, conversing first with the patient, Major Lewis, and then with her colleague Sister Thomsen, when all of a sudden she gave a lurch and a gasp.

"Isobel, are you all right?" Sister Thomsen reached out to steady her. "Here, take a seat." Isobel sat heavily, her face drained of colour, and staring unseeing. Sister Thomsen could feel her shaking.

She tried again. "Isobel, whatever is the matter?"

Major Lewis tried. "Sister Crawley, are you all right my dear?"

"I… I," she began. "Something is wrong, I don't know what it is but I feel it, I…"

At that moment a young nurse entered and walked rapidly but quietly across to Isobel. "Sister Crawley, there you are!" she said relieved. "Nurse Crawley dropped her cup in the tearoom. Something has upset her. Could you go to her please, she is asking for you."


	2. Chapter 2

"I've tried the war office," Robert paced the small library, two pairs of eyes, Mary and Isobel's following his every step. "There is something going on. All they'll say is that there are heavy casualties again among those involved in the battle at Lys. There has been trouble at Messines. And they did confirm that Matthew's regiment was involved.

"I'm very sorry we can't get anything more from them. We're just going to have to wait. They did agree to call me as soon as they hear news – one small perk from having connections," his voice tailed off.

He turned towards them, unable to quell the anguish in his eyes and went on. "I don't like this. That you both could feel… and Daisy too. Carson tells me she had a turn and she's beside herself. She's telling them over and over that William has been hurt. He shook his head. "I don't like this. I don't like this at all."

There was nothing for it. They would have to wait.

Robert returned, worried, to his luncheon guests. Mary and Isobel returned to the hospital in silence, their shared sense of foreboding heightened by Robert's news.

Mary attempted to re-start her budget task. When it proved impossible to concentrate she settled instead for sorting her office desk and drawers. The papers needed a tidy anyway, and at least that was a job she could focus on.

Isobel returned to the ward. "Any news?" Sister Thomsen inquired in a low voice. Isobel shook her head. "Very little. But his regiment is involved in the battle at Lys," she said tightly, her mouth a thin line. "… and Daisy is beside herself about William.." She shut her eyes momentarily and put her hand to her lips. "Distract me, for god's sake!"

"Of course my dear. Help me with Lieutenant Jones. I'm not sure how we best clean the wound where he has developed that secondary skin infection," Sister Thomsen said immediately, and she led her gently across the room to where the young man lay groaning on his bed.

Arriving home at the end of her shift, Molesley greeted her with a cheery smile. "Ah, Mrs Crawley," he beamed. "Good evening. We've had some mail today, and you'll be pleased to hear there is a letter from Matthew."

His smile faded as he saw Isobel's face drain of colour at his words, and he caught her arm as she swayed.

"Mrs Crawley, you're awfully pale. Is something wrong? Here, sit down a moment," and he helped her to the seat by the telephone in the hall.

"Molesley," Isobel began, vaguely thinking she should tell him what Robert had said... what she, Daisy, and Mary had worried. But she just couldn't. Instead, she said "The letter, could you..."

"Of course," Molesley replied, worried by his employer's countenance. "Do you wish to read it here? Or could I assist you to the sitting room? You don't look at all well!"

At Isobel's gesture, he took her arm and soon had her in the sitting room seated in the comfortable armchair by the fireplace.

He fetched the letter from the mail tray and handed it to her. "I'll organise you some tea. A long day was it?" He frowned at her, trying to fathom what could be the matter. She nodded distractedly, her hands already ripping at the envelope. Molesley hadn't moved, the slight frown still on his face. He clearly expected more of an answer. Suppressing her irritation, Isobel put her hand to her forehead and said, "A headache I'm afraid. A draught would be helpful."

Satisfied, Molesley turned on his heel and left the room. Isobel unfolded the letter, smoothed out the cream coloured paper and began to read.

_April 3 1918_

_Dear Mother,_

_We are due shortly to go over the top. I can't say when, of course. And this time I can't shake my unease. Everything around me feels sharpened. The air feels like it has a weight to it. The light is brighter. People's voices are louder. The extremes of colour we get here, even they seem deeper somehow. The mud is blacker, and yet the sky holds such drama and depth with the scudding clouds and changing light it is like a Turner painting. It is so beautiful I just want to lie back and watch it all day._

_And whilst I brood, William remains positive and unflappable. He is a great comfort. I find I rely on him more and more for courage of late. Strange. To rely on a younger man for such a thing. The war has made me feel old. I can't believe it's been going more than three years now. When we started out we were all convinced it would be 'over by winter' and now it's the fourth winter._

_Mother, what are we doing? In these moments when I see everything with such clarity, I see these young men we shoot. They look like us. They have mothers, sisters, wives, brothers and fathers like us. No doubt they had both ordinary and extraordinary lives before this, just like us. I've lost count of how many men I've killed. And how many countless others I have instructed my platoons to kill. I can't reconcile it in my mind. It haunts me, Mother._

_What would Father have made of this madness? He was a healer. I often wonder what he would say if he were here and able to offer his good counsel to our Government. Surely there is another way to make things right, and what better than a man focused on healing to chart the path? I miss him so much, Mother. And I wish I knew what would he advise me, his son, in charge of a company of 200 men, on the cusp of yet another battle._

_Mother, I will be all right. You know how my mind works. And how I need to write like this because it helps. 'A burden shared is a burden halved' as you have counselled me since I was a small boy._

_I am with good men over here, and they keep me cheered. We are battle hardened and we know what to do. And I do know how to lead._

_Whatever happens, please know that I love you so very, very much, and I am enormously proud to be your son._

_With all my love,_

_Matthew_

The call from the war office came at 3:30 am. Carson roused Lord Grantham first. He and Cora hurried to the telephone in the hall. As Robert listened, Cora asked Carson in a low tone, to raise Daisy, Mrs Patmore and her daughters.

A few minutes later, summoned from their beds by Carson and Mrs Hughes, the family, along with Daisy and Mrs Patmore assembled to hear Robert's news.

_By God,_ he thought. _This is when you don't want to be the head of a household._ He took a breath and steeled himself to share the news.

"They are both alive," he said to a collective gasp of relief, "but," and he held up his hand for silence, "both of them are wounded…" he paused, breathing hard, and then as he looked at their stricken faces, he made a snap decision not to share in full the rest of the message. He just couldn't. Perhaps the war office had it wrong: maybe when they were here there might be some hope.

"And that's it?" whispered Edith. "Seriously wounded," he finished. Mary's face went white. Daisy let out an anguished sob.

Robert looked around at his family and the assembled servants and saw the fear for cousin Matthew, and William the popular footman in their solemn faces. They had been so lucky until now, the immediate household mostly unscathed, unlike both neighbouring estates, one of which had lost four out of five sons. But now the war really had come to Downton.

"What happens next Papa?" Edith spoke her bottom lip quivering.

"They are working to get them home. The expectation is late tomorrow."

"I need to call Isobel," Mary said, almost to herself. "And we need to get hold of Lavinia." She turned and walked quickly across to the telephone.

Cora took a deep breath. "Mrs Patmore," she said. "Would you mind making tea and bringing it to the small library for us all. And perhaps Daisy needs something too," she said looking sadly at the crying girl. Mrs Patmore bustled off, and Mrs Hughes followed her back to the stairs, her arm around Daisy's shoulder.

It was the hardest telephone call Mary had ever had to make. In the interminable silence after she told Isobel, she had a sudden urge to howl like a child, acutely aware of what the news must sound like to Matthew's mother. She hung up the receiver and stood silent for some minutes. Finally, she took a deep breath, steeled herself, and called Lavinia.

Lavinia's tearful words on the end of the telephone were a lot easier to deal with. After she bade Lavinia good night, thinking vaguely that she really should have said good morning despite the inky blackness outside, she walked unseeingly to the small library to join her family and lowered herself slowly into a chair.

_She still loves him,_ Robert saw with startling clarity as he watched her come in. He'd suspected as much. And for the life of him, he still couldn't understand how their relationship had got so messed up. He shook his head. And now it might be too late.

They were a silent knot of worried people, unsure just what to do next.

Sipping his tea, Robert looked around at his daughters. The true graveness of the situation that he had not fully revealed caused him to reflect for a moment on what the war had already meant for them.

Youth cut short. News, all too frequent, of yet another childhood friend dying in a foreign field. The carefree days of social calls, dress fittings and elegant soirees a distant memory. Not what he or Cora had envisaged for the well-bred young women they had raised.

He had not expected to have daughters that worked. And yet here they all were, doing just that. And in a most diligent and dedicated fashion. What was it he felt? No, it wasn't outrage. Nor a sense of 'this shouldn't be.' It was pride. Today, in the midst of a long-running and brutal war, he was proud of them. Intensely proud.

Mary, his eldest, was showing a real flair for management with her administration of the now significantly expanded Downton hospital. And she'd surprised him and Cora when she'd added to her work by becoming a volunteer nurse. And what's more, she seemed to be genuinely enjoying it. _She's always been so unreadable. Yet in her nursing she shows a real empathy and gentleness with the patients,_ he mused.

Sybil. Looking at his youngest daughter he couldn't help but smile. His sweet spirited and opinionated child had blossomed into a forthright, dedicated young woman, and she was now a fully qualified nurse, and being paid! Hmm. He still wasn't sure what he thought about that. Her sense of humour and fun, if anything, seemed even more pronounced, and she was very popular with her patients, and particularly those at the convalescent home where she was involved in the provision of the physical therapy.

Edith was perhaps the most different. The daughter he'd struggled to relate to was quite transformed. From the early days after the convalescent home had opened she had taken it upon herself to see to the patient welfare at Downton Abbey, gradually building her expertise and role, and with it, her reputation among the patients and medical staff alike. Her care and helpfulness towards the men had even earned her a special mention from General Sir Herbert Strutt, for god's sake, when he had visited the convalescent home during his troop recruitment drive in the previous year.

Robert took a deep breath and swallowed. "My dearest daughters," he said finally. "I don't think we can achieve much more just waiting. How about you try and get a little more sleep." He paused and then said grimly, "We're going to need our wits about us in the coming days. It will not just be our people who will need us. The casualties from these last few days have been very high."

Edith and Sybil left first. Mary lingered. Robert could see she wanted to say something, but the words weren't coming. He went across to her and took her hand. "Mary…" He gave her a searching look, but he couldn't find the words to say anything either. Finally, he said, "You need your sleep." She nodded and slowly stood up, and he hugged her briefly before she silently left the room.

Cora and Robert followed her upstairs. When they got to their room, Robert gave a shuddering sigh, and sat heavily on the edge of his bed, staring unseeingly.

"Robert, what is it?" he felt Cora's hand on his shoulder. "They told you something else didn't they?" she said gently.

"Cora, it was a very strange call. I couldn't bring myself to say it to you all, but the phrase they used was 'critically injured.' And it was more what they didn't say which had me worried. If… if there was hope they would have been sent to one of the major field hospitals. But what they said was they were on their way here directly, here to an auxiliary hospital that is only set up to deal with moderately injured men… Cora, I, I think they have been sent home to die!"


	3. Chapter 3

Later Robert would wonder why neither he, nor Cora ever thought to tell Major Clarkson what the army messenger had actually said, as when William and Matthew arrived in an overcrowded truck and were stretchered in, the full ramifications of the arrival of two critically injured men amongst forty other moderate to seriously injured men caused immediate disquiet.

Major Clarkson was beside himself. He could not believe what he was seeing on the x-rays sent with the paperwork from the casualty clearing station. Numerous ribs in Matthew's back were broken. His spine was fractured in three places, and his pelvis was cracked. Virtually all William's ribs were broken, and one of his lungs had collapsed and every laboured breath he made was the gurgling sound of a gas victim.

"This is unacceptable!" he almost shouted, in an uncharacteristic flash of anger. "Captain Crawley should be at the Orthopaedic Hospital in London and Private Mason needs help from a chest specialist. We're not set up to treat injuries like this here!"

"I'll put a call through to the Medical Corps and see if we can organise transfers," said Sergeant Barrow grimly. He was pained to see Matthew so badly hurt. He had a lot of respect for Matthew. They had been together for some months at the front, their respective regiments serving in the same area before Thomas had been invalided out with a damaged hand.

One incident stood out in his mind. The cold, damp day his fellow stretcher-bearer had been shot in the head, whilst Matthew and his former batman, Davis, had been out on patrol.

"Keep your chin up, Corporal," Matthew had said kindly after he had found Thomas curled in a shaking, sniffling ball in the mud at the bottom of the trench. The stretcher had been upturned, and his mate who had been talking merrily to him just moments before was now unrecognisable. "He went quickly and without pain. Keep focused on that old boy," and he had put his hand on his shoulder.

And then Matthew had taken it upon himself to right the stretcher, organised two other lads to take the injured man on, and motioned another to sit with him until he was calm. Kindness was not something Thomas had experienced much of in his life. And those words and gestures had helped. Enormously.

He gave a momentary shudder, clenched his jaw, and walked towards the office telephone. "Stay close in case I need you to talk with them," he said over his shoulder to Major Clarkson as he walked.

"Pardon? You have done what?" Major Clarkson heard Sergeant Barrow asking tersely down the telephone. He turned and beckoned Major Clarkson over with a grim expression. "Best you speak to them Sir," he said shaking his head.

After a tense conversation, Major Clarkson put the phone down with a loud thwack, and turned to Sergeant Barrow, his face dark. "I need Isobel, and both the Crawley sisters right now," he said. "Get Sister Thomsen to find another nurse to continue seeing to Captain Crawley while I speak with them."

Sergeant Barrow nodded and went quickly to the ward.

They were part way through cutting his clothes off, and his exposed chest was black and blue, matching the black eyes on his face. Sergeant Barrow inhaled sharply at the sight, and said as gently as he could, "Major Clarkson needs all the Crawley nurses right away. Sister Thomsen, he suggested you ask Nurse Ellison to help you with him until the others are back, please."

"Thank you, Sergeant," Isobel said. "Sister Thomsen, could you please finish with this cut. It will need to be stitched. Please don't turn him yet. The note on his clothing said spinal damage is suspected and I don't want any risks taken with my son!" Isobel finished in a firm tone. "Of course," Sister Thomsen said with a brief nod.

Sergeant Barrow felt a lump forming in his throat as he imagined Sister Crawley's reaction to the news of the x-ray and the even more horrifying news of the reality of Matthew's condition that Major Clarkson was about to share with them. That the Army had sent Matthew and William home to die.

Major Clarkson motioned them to sit down. "I don't wish to sit," said Isobel, "I want to know what on earth is going on and why my son has been sent here so badly wounded!"

"Please sit Isobel," he said quietly. "What I am about to say will not be easy for you." Isobel gasped and wordlessly took a seat. Mary instinctively reached out and put her hand on her shoulder.

Major Clarkson cleared his throat. "Captain Crawley and Private Mason were sent here as their injuries are considered not survivable. They have… been sent home to die."

Sybil's quick action caught Mary as she swayed, and she managed to lower her onto a seat. She sat, mute and shaking violently. Isobel was staring glassy-eyed at Major Clarkson. "Go on," she whispered. Major Clarkson read out the notes from the files in front of him, in all their sobering detail, gesturing at the x-ray on the light box as he went. When he finished, a grim silence settled on the assembled group. Then Isobel spoke, anger evident in her voice.

"This cannot be. Did you ask if they could reconsider? Could they get Matthew into the Orthopaedic hospital?"

"They said they are overrun with patients... patients who they believe have a better chance of survival and they cannot take him.

"I must say myself, however, that even if they were prepared to, I believe the risks of transferring him now are too great at this stage."

"Well, that's it then," said Isobel, her voice strangely high and steely. "We are going to have to treat them and nurse them here. I will not let my son die, without doing my damn best to save him! Major Clarkson, I must use the telephone immediately."

Without waiting for his permission, she crossed the room quickly to the desk, and picking up the receiver, she began issuing crisp instructions to the operator.

Sybil's eyes were wide. "This is just not right!" she seethed. "Major Clarkson, what can we do? We cannot let Matthew and William die!"

"I don't know if we have much choice," he said helplessly. "Both of them have injuries that are still beyond the abilities of even the best doctors to manage."

He shook his head and began muttering, almost to himself. "We are short-staffed already, and I will be in breach of orders if I increase the staffing ratio for two patients sent home for palliative care."

"I think you will find that all three of us will resign our positions if we are not able to nurse our people!" Sybil burst out.

"Of course," said Major Clarkson, "and I would not stand in your way. But if we all put our heads together, there must be something else we can do without recourse to an extreme decision like that."

"We must get hold of Papa," Mary said in a shaking voice. "I am sure he will pay for additional nurses to help!"

"That's all very well Nurse Crawley, but finding suitably trained personnel is very difficult at the moment," replied Major Clarkson.

Sybil gave a sudden intake of breath. "I've just remembered something… Major Clarkson, Mary, I think I might have a solution!"

Isobel who had just hung up the receiver, and who began to talk as she walked back across the room interrupted her.

"I've got hold of Reggie's old friend and colleague Charles Stout, who is now the Board Chairman for the Military Orthopaedic Hospital. He is a close friend of one of the top specialists there, a Doctor called Robert Jones.

"He was horrified when he heard about Matthew, and he has promised to organise for Dr Jones to call us within the hour to tell us how best to treat him. He agreed, with you, Major Clarkson, that even if we could get an exception for Matthew through my connections, the risk of transporting him now is too great."

Isobel paused, needing to compose herself. She took a deep breath and went on.

"In terms of William, he advises we treat him as best we can for the gas burns to his lungs but he warned that going on what I told him, it sounded like the lung injuries are indeed going to be fatal for him. He gave me some advice on medication and care which I've written down," she said waving a piece of paper.

"Is he trained in that area himself?" asked Major Clarkson sounding surprised.

"Yes. In fact, he's been pulled out of retirement back into work as a respiratory specialist for the Army which I didn't know until he told me now," said Isobel.

"And now we must get back to Matthew!"

"Hold on just a minute," Major Clarkson said gently. "We've just been talking about what we could do to free you up to nurse him.

"Nurse Crawley, you were about to share with us an idea you had for this?" Major Clarkson turned to Sybil inquiringly.

Sybil cleared her throat. "Two sisters that I trained with… their brother has been invalided back to Downton to the home of another brother. He has lost a leg and is suffering from gas blindness. We met for tea last week and they said they were hoping for a transfer to a hospital near here so they could support the brother who is caring for the injured one… if Papa could assist with funding Major Clarkson, could we offer them roles here to replace myself and Isobel?

"And if Mary takes on her nurse role full time, perhaps we could ask Mama to help with the hospital administration?"

Major Clarkson looked at Mary. "Nurse Crawley, you've only been working as a nurse volunteer a few months. Are you sure you want to take this on as a full-time role? It will not be easy."

"Very sure, Major Clarkson," Mary said firmly. "It is Cousin Matthew we are talking about! And I'm sure Mama can do a superb job with the administration. She's got the convalescent hospital running like a well-oiled machine now!"

"Very well," Major Clarkson nodded, glancing from Mary to Sybil. "See if you can both make this work."

Mary telephoned her father first, aware that the success or otherwise of this possible solution rested upon securing funds for the additional nurses.

The conversation with her Father was brief and to the point. She adopted her best nursing voice, knowing that if she spoke to him as Mary, the daughter, she would break down, and now was not the time. Robert seemed to sense the same. He answered quickly.

"Yes! Anything! Any amount of money!" such was his anguish over the young man and heir he had come to love as a son. And yes, he would talk to Cora about helping out in the hospital office, she, herself had been saying just lately how her time had freed up.

Sybil took the telephone then, to try and contact her friends at the hospital in York.

Mary returned with Isobel to the ward. Her heart was heavy, but a steely resolve was forming. Matthew had survived the war. He was back home. It was up to them, now, to make sure he survived his injuries. As she surveyed his badly bruised, cut and unconscious body, it came to her, very clearly, that she couldn't imagine the world without him in it.

She knew it was futile, but she was suddenly compelled to talk to him regardless, and she pulled a chair up close.

"Mathew," she said gently. "If you can hear me, please know you are safe now. You are at home with people that love you. You've got a fight ahead, and this one is for your life. We're going to help you, but you need to help yourself too." She paused, watching him closely. He didn't stir. "And Matthew, I… I love you, I always have and I always will." Swallowing back a sob, she stood up and gave a gasp of surprise when she realised Isobel was right behind her. Isobel gave her a small smile and an inscrutable look.

She motioned her, Sybil and Sister Thomsen together and explained to Sister Thomsen what Major Clarkson had described from the file and shown them on the x-ray. It was now time for them to turn Matthew so they could deal with the wounds on his back.

Isobel explained the procedure, and Mary watched the three more experienced nurses roll him over, taking considerable care to keep his back and head in alignment as they did so.

Isobel couldn't stop her own tears this time: when they peeled off the remains of his clothes and removed his belt, the bruising on his back was far worse than the front, and as well as many more ragged cuts from shrapnel, there was a large, angry looking wound on his lower back, already red and weeping, which Isobel realised from the x-ray, was about where his pelvis was cracked. _A pressure sore already, with the added complication of a fracture,_ she thought grimly. _Just what he doesn't need on top of everything else!_

She blinked her eyes and made herself carry on anyway, and they worked silently, feverishly together to wash him, clean and paint the shrapnel wounds, stitch and bandage him. When they were almost finished, Major Clarkson came through and fetched Isobel and Sybil to take the phone call from Dr Jones.

Mary finished off, sponging clean Matthew's legs and feet, and drying him down. _At least this part of his body isn't quite so cut up_, she thought grimly. She collected up the soiled linens and clothing and took them to the dressing station at the side of the ward, sorting them into the appropriate bags.

Sister Thomsen was there, preparing a draught for another patient. She nodded to her and said, "I'll keep a watch on him now Nurse Crawley. Have a wash and a break. You'll want to be hearing that conversation they're having out there."

"Thank you," Mary said gratefully to the senior nurse. Alone in the washroom, she cried as she washed her hands and face, her tears mixing with the cool water. It helped, somehow.

When she joined the others in Major Clarkson's office, Isobel was still talking to Dr Jones, and Sybil was hurriedly taking notes of everything Isobel was saying.

Mary fetched tea for all of them, and sat down with hers, to wait. Finally, Isobel handed the telephone to Major Clarkson, for him, too, to speak with Dr Jones.

By the end of the discussion, Major Clarkson, like Isobel, couldn't help feeling overwhelmed with what was ahead if they were to keep Matthew alive.

"Nurse Crawley, could you fetch Sister Thomsen please," he asked Mary, his voice weary.

When they returned, he motioned them to sit.

"We have a battle on our hands," he said, knowing that all of them were better off hearing the full truth.

"Captain Crawley is severely wounded, and the symptoms he is showing thus far indicate there may be paralysis. If we are to give him any chance at all, he'll need round the clock nursing.

"The survival rates for soldiers with back injuries similar to his are very poor. What complicates things for us is that he has also broken numerous ribs. This makes the risks of pneumonia even higher. On top of that, Sister Crawley informs me he has already developed a pressure sore, and that is the other major risk factor we have here: infection. He needs to be kept scrupulously clean and dry, and he needs to be turned frequently, and that will have to be done extremely carefully. If we make even one mistake, it could worsen his back injury, or cause a lung to be punctured. I'd say a minimum of three nurses to be on the safe side."

He went on, explaining that he would be ordering in, at Dr Jone's recommendation, some extra medical equipment, including a brace, which would make moving him easier and safer.

He took a deep breath. "One last important point is managing pain. When he comes round, he's going to be in considerable pain, and we will need to manage that well, amongst other things, to help him keep up his will to live." He sighed and shut his eyes momentarily.

"Sister Crawley, could you please explain the nursing procedures now," he asked.

Isobel, with help from Sybil's notes, ran through the procedures they would need to follow for his care, and how each shift would be organised.

There was a lot to take in, and the importance of doing it correctly was quite overwhelming. _If we don't do this right, he could die!_ Mary thought, acutely aware of her own limitations: the auxiliary nurse training she had taken had been on the job and was minimal at best.

Sybil saw her frown and guessed immediately what it was about. "Mary, don't worry, she said reassuringly. "None of us will leave you to complete a procedure unsupported until you've done all these things several times under our supervision, and you, yourself feel confident."

"I never expected such a baptism of fire being a volunteer nurse," Mary said in a small voice. "And it's Matthew. I am so afraid I might get something wrong!"

"You won't," Sybil said reassuringly. "I've been watching you work these past months, and you're very careful and a lot more skilled than you think."

Dr Clarkson also told them what he and Sergeant Barrow had managed to work out for William. He would be catered for at Downton Abbey and nursed by Edith with help from another volunteer. Isobel had already telephoned Edith with instructions from Dr Stout regarding his care.

"So William will not survive?" Mary said quietly. "It looks not," Sybil said sadly. "He may have a few days, and possibly a week, but that is all. Such a shame, poor, poor Daisy."

Isobel took the first shift and sent Mary and Sybil home to bed. They were both exhausted. On instinct, however, they both retained their nurse personas when Cora, Robert and Edith met them at the door and ushered them quickly to the small library, where a platter of sandwiches and a pot of tea were waiting. Sybil took the lead, explaining in crisp and practical terms, what the situation was.

Robert was behaving oddly and responded almost guiltily when Sybil talked about how outrageous it was they had not been sent to specialist hospitals. She wondered vaguely what her father's reaction was about, but she was too tired to care. The enormity of what was ahead was all too apparent.

"Mary," Cora said gently. "I had a call from Lavinia, and she will be here the day after tomorrow."

"Oh, that will be nice for Matthew if he is conscious by then. Thank you, Mama," Mary said, ignoring the inner turmoil she felt at the thought of having to comfort Lavinia over Matthew when her own heart was breaking.

She wondered then whether she should call Richard. _But what would he do? Would he comfort you? And offer words of support and encouragement? Or would he come marching up here and stop you from nursing Matthew?_ A claw of fear played in the pit of her stomach. She really wasn't sure. The last few times she'd seen Richard, there had been flashes of a jealous, possessive man in how he had related to her. Not the dynamic, confident man she'd first felt an attraction to.

_No,_ she told herself. _Don't call Richard. Not yet._

"Girls," Cora said. "Robert and I are going up to bed. Please don't be long, you are all going to need your sleep."

Exhausted as they all were, they bade their parents good night, and lingered, needing to distract themselves from the intensity and grimness of the day. The conversation turned to William, and Edith explained what they were doing to make him comfortable.

"We've got his pain under control, and he's sleeping relatively well. I'm hoping that if we can keep it well controlled for him, that he'll be able to cope with a visit from Daisy tomorrow. His lungs are very bad, and it will not be long," she said sadly.

"Matthew will be devastated," Mary's face fell. "In the last few letters he's sent me from the front, he's talked quite a lot about William and how well it was working out with him." She took a sip of her tea and continued. "He's become a real friend and confidante," she said, her face solemn as she looked at her sisters. "And on top of that, he's actually been helping Matthew and Alex, their commanding officer, who, as you know, is Matthew's old friend from university. With some of the strategy. William has turned out to be a real talent apparently."

"Oh dear," Edith looked dismayed. "I hadn't realised they had become so close. Poor Matthew! He would want to be there for him!"

"I suppose all we can do is hope he regains consciousness in time for us to get a message from him to William," Sybil frowned.

They were all silent a moment, and then Edith said thoughtfully "It's surprising, isn't it? That an ordinary young footman would have a head for strategy."

"Is it really surprising?" Sybil challenged. "We seem to make all sorts of assumptions about people depending on the type of family they are born into. But people are people, surely! Should we really be surprised when a young man like William turns out to have a talent like that?"

"I hadn't thought about it like that," Edith said furrowing her brow. "But I do suppose you are right. We face that too, being women, don't we? Just the other day I was asking Papa for permission to write an article for _The York Herald_, and he forbade me, saying journalism was not a role for a woman!"

"He didn't dare!" Sybil said in disgust.

"He did," replied Edith with a frown.

"Well you must disobey him," Sybil said lifting her chin resolutely.

Despite the solemnity of the evening, Mary couldn't help smiling. "Darling, we all know you are very good at disobeying Papa and getting away with it. Edith and I never seem to have quite the same success!" They all tittered, and then Mary said, "Tell me more about this article Edith, what was your topic?"

"The Editor called. He'd heard about the work we're doing with the shell-shocked men. That's what he wanted me to write about," she replied.

"Oh," Mary said, concerned. "I'm afraid I'm with Sybil then. That needs a good article, and you are well placed to do it!"

Edith smiled, taken aback by her sister's words of support.

"And besides," Mary went on. We're going to need some distractions in the coming days with what is ahead, she said sadly. "If we can get some light relief from seeing Papa's face the day your article appears, then it will all be worth it!"

She suppressed a yawn. And now we must all go to bed."


	4. Chapter 4

Mary was at the hospital promptly at 6 o'clock the next morning. Isobel briefed her on the night: Matthew had not stirred at all, but the last hour he had started to, so it was likely he might finally be coming round. If he did, she needed to get Major Clarkson immediately while he was conscious, so he could complete his assessment and diagnosis. She outlined the procedures again, and said that Nurse Ellison had offered to supervise her until Sister Thomsen arrived mid morning, so that she could go home and rest.

"What a good idea," she said, looking appreciatively at Nurse Ellison across the room. "Can we trust that Mrs Bird and Molesley will take good care of you?"

Isobel gave her a tired smile. "I know that they will. And Mary, thank you so much for stepping up like this."

"It is nothing," she said.

"It is a lot more than nothing," said Isobel fervently, giving her a look of real gratitude. In the past year, her impression of Mary had completely changed. Gone was the vain, haughty girl she had first met back in 1912. In her place was a hard working, dedicated young woman who never complained. She'd watched in some amazement how Mary had taken so quickly to her role as a VAD. She never flinched at the most unpleasant of tasks that might come a nurse's way. And she had a calmness and unflappability about her that both the patients, and the other nurses appreciated.

Isobel left, and Mary started on the morning's tasks, beginning with checking and cleaning each wound and re-dressing as necessary. This was something she didn't need supervision with immediately.

Around mid morning, Matthew began to stir. "Matthew," she said gently "Matthew, can you hear me?"

Matthew's eyes swam. He was aware of a terrible stabbing pain in his chest, each time he took a breath. His skin felt like it was on fire. There was something white above him, and then the shape of someone's face. A very nice face framed by dark hair. Someone he knew... things went out of focus again, but after a few minutes his vision started to sharpen, and he realised he was in a hospital and that he was looking at the white ceiling. The nice face was still there. And now he knew who she was. Mary. He felt a warmth steal through him and he started to smile. _But where is Lavinia?_ a voice in his mind was asking. He felt suddenly confused. His body was responding to Mary… but it was Lavinia to whom he had promised his heart. He shut his eyes again, exhausted both by the pain and his conflicted emotions.

Twenty minutes later, he stirred once more, and this time he tried to answer Mary's questions. "Matthew, are you feeling a little less groggy now?"

"Where's Lavinia?" he murmured.

"She will be arriving tomorrow," Mary answered him gently. "Do you know where you are?"

"Yes," he breathed. "Downton."

"I'm going to get Major Clarkson now, try to stay awake. He needs to examine you when you are conscious," He felt the mattress move as she got up, and he had the odd feeling of missing her presence already. He was relieved when she quickly returned, Major Clarkson behind her.

In his no-nonsense way, Major Clarkson got straight to business. "Captain Crawley," he said. "I need to ask you some questions, and then I'm going to examine you, all right? I must warn you that it may be painful." Matthew gave a brief nod by way of answer.

When it was time for the examination, Mary got Nurse Ellison and another duty nurse to assist her to move Matthew onto his side. The movement caused him to cry out, and Mary inhaled sharply, concerned for him. Major Clarkson barked out one question after another, taking notes, and poking and prodding.

By the end of it, Matthew was exhausted and clearly in a lot of pain. Mary, with Nurse Ellison overseeing her, administered him a shot of morphine, and then she smoothed his forehead with a damp cloth. "Thank you," he managed. "Try to sleep now," she said gently, and within minutes he was.

Mary was briefing Sybil at the end of her shift when she heard voices outside the ward. One of them was unmistakably her father. And then they heard Isobel. A door slammed, and they both looked at each other in surprise. They had expected that Isobel would rest for the full day until the night shift.

"What's this about?" Mary whispered.

"I'm not sure. Unless Major Clarkson is giving them the prognosis?" answered Sybil.

"That must be it, but why drag Isobel back in when she needs the rest?" Mary pondered. Then she gasped. It must mean that the news was not good. They both looked at each other, not sure whether to speak. Then Mary gave a slight shake of her head. They would hear soon enough, and in the meantime, it was easier to focus on practical things. She started back briefing Sybil from where they had left off with the handover.

She had washed up, and was putting her coat on, ready to leave the hospital, when Major Clarkson came into the cloakroom and said "Nurse Crawley, a quick word if I may."

She looked at him expectantly. "I have given Lord Grantham and Isobel my opinion of Matthew's condition, and I think it important that you, as a member of his nursing team also have it.

"There is a low chance of him surviving his injuries, but that you already knew. If he pulls through," and here he paused and took a breath, "he will not walk again. He has no feeling below his waist. My examination of him when he was conscious confirmed what we suspected. He is paralysed." He turned and left, not wanting her to see his own emotion at having to share the devastating news.

Mary sat slowly down on the bench in the cloakroom, everything in the room too bright, too harsh. Major Clarkson's words echoed in her head.

This cruel, barbaric war. What a terrible price that Matthew had paid, would continue to pay if he even managed to live. She realised she was about to be sick and ran to the bathroom. She retched until she had nothing left, and then she sank to the floor shaking. She stayed there, crying quietly, for quite some time, and then she gave herself a little talk. _Now just remember, you're the cool, calm Lady Mary. That's what you are. Matthew is going to need you to be strong. And so is Isobel. And now it's time to get up and keep going._

She sat for another few minutes steeling herself, and then took a deep breath, got to her feet, rinsed her mouth and washed her face. Then she left the hospital and walked quickly home.

Mary had the afternoon shift the following day, and when she arrived, she was surprised to see Lavinia, who had arrived that morning, running crying from the ward. She brushed past Mary almost unseeing, and left, her sobbing clearly audible until they heard a door shut.

"What was that about?" she asked Sybil, frowning.

"I think Matthew has broken off their engagement," said Sybil sadly.

"What?" Mary said incredulous.

"Major Clarkson gave him the news this morning. He's taking it very hard. The bit about not having children, in particular, is what I think made him send Lavinia away."

"What do you mean, not having children?" she asked, confused.

"Didn't Major Clarkson tell you that part, Mary?" Sybil asked gently. "He has no control of anything below his waist."

"Oh," Mary said shocked, suddenly realising the full and terrible implications of Sybil's words. "Poor poor Matthew! This is just so unfair!" tears pricked the back of her eyes.

"War is never fair," Sybil said grimly. "All these young men dead, others with permanent injuries. Cut down in their prime. What a waste. She spoke angrily, her voice low. "Is it really worth it Mary? All this needless suffering? Why can't we sort out problems between countries without hurting each other?"

They were silent for a moment, Sybil angry, Mary grief-stricken, for the second time in as many days as she contemplated what Matthew had ahead. Finally, Sybil said quietly, "Mary, I can't bear to keep thinking about it. Let's just focus on now, shall we?" Mary nodded. It was too awful to dwell on what Matthew had lost.

Sybil picked up the clipboard, and said "This is what I need to tell you," and she began systematically going through the handover with her.

Matthew was awake and restless when Mary began her shift.

"Did you hear that I have sent Lavinia away?" he said tightly.

"Yes, and it seems to me a rash and unnecessarily hasty thing to do! You should be giving yourself, and her, a chance!" she said in a firm tone.

"Lavinia is young. She will fall in love again, with someone who can give her children and a proper life. I can't be with any woman, not like this, not ever," he said, his voice dark.

"But what if she would want to be with you, on any terms?" said Mary, hating to hear him talk with such little self worth.

"No woman would want to be with me. I can't be a proper man anymore. I'll spend my life being bathed and dressed and lugged around by other people. I can't bear to think of it. I don't even want to live with myself!" His face paled suddenly and he said weakly, "I, I think I'm going to be sick!"

Mary managed to get a bowl to him, and under his chin just in time. When he had finished, she lowered his head back onto the pillow and wiped his mouth gently with a cloth. She smoothed his forehead and said soothingly, "It's all right Matthew, it's perfectly all right."

He looked at her and gave a bitter laugh. "Really?" he said. "It's quite ironic, don't you think? A few years ago you turned down my offer of marriage, and now I lie here, a cripple for life. You must be pleased you had such a lucky escape! I wish they had left me at the front," he said harshly. "I would have been better off dead." And his eyes darkened.

Mary couldn't bear it any longer. She said firmly, trying not to let anger into her voice, "Matthew, you have survived the war. You must not, cannot think like this when you've got to battle now for your very life!"

He said nothing. He just looked at her, his lips trembling and his eyes deep pools of despair and defeat.

"Matthew, you can get through this," she tried again. "And you must get through it. Your mother needs you for god's sake!"

"Does she need me? Does she really need me like this? If I do survive, I won't have a normal life!" his voice was shaky.

Mary nodded. "You are her son. You are her only family. She will want you, however, whatever, as long as you are alive! Your life will be different. But you are resourceful and you have your mind, Matthew. You will adjust. You will make something of your life!" She was angry now. "Don't you dare say you would be better off dead!"

Her words must have got through because they seemed to jolt something in him and he muttered "Sorry."

She took his hand and squeezed it, giving him what she hoped was a reassuring smile. "That's more like it," she said. She sat with him, holding his hand until his breathing evened, and then she said, "Now, how about something to eat." He gave a small nod, and she fetched a bowl of broth and began to feed him.

That evening, just after Anna had left her bedchamber, Mary heard the sound of someone crying. Pulling on her gown, she went into the hallway to find out who it was. In the guest room nearby, she found Lavinia sitting up in bed, sobbing uncontrollably, a white shawl spread loosely around her dainty shoulders.

"Lavinia, whatever is the matter?" she asked, and she sat down on the bed beside her.

"Matthew has broken our engagement. He has sent me away. He wants me to return to London and not see him again," she sniffed.

"I'm sure he'll come around," Mary said reasonably. "Unfortunately it was today he got the prognosis and he has taken it very hard, especially about not being able to give you children."

"He might, but," and she looked at Mary with a queer light in her eyes, "I'm not going to push him on this. You see, it's not just now, but it's been for a while, that I've thought, I've seen…"

"Lavinia, what is it?" asked Mary looking at her closely.

"I don't have Matthew's heart," she said with a sob. "If I did, well, of course I would stay, and not allow him to push me away, but I know that I don't. So I won't."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, Mary, I might as well say it. It is you. You have Matthew's, heart. He still loves you. Today, when I arrived he was asleep. As he awoke he seemed to be in some sort of pain and he was calling out _Mary_!"

"But isn't that just because I'm nursing him?" Mary protested.

"Perhaps, but when he realised it was just me… I swear he looked disappointed!" and she began to cry again.

Mary stared at Lavinia, speechless.

"And please," and at this Lavinia gave Mary a serious look, "It's not just now. I'd been wondering about things for a while. Ever since that trip, he had with the General, and he'd seen quite a bit of you. He seemed to change toward me somehow. I know you'd had some sort of fight in the past, and that you have only recently made up. Perhaps in getting over it, he has rediscovered his love for you."

"I don't know what to say," Mary said. "I am engaged to Sir Richard and…"

"We both know who is the better man, Mary," Lavinia said gently.

She was silent a moment, staring toward the window. Then she turned to Mary and said, "I feel better for having told you all this. And please remember I am not leaving him because he is wounded and may die, but because his heart is with you and, as much as it pains me, because I do love him very much, I do not want to stand in the way of any remote chance you may have with him if... if he lives." Tears trickled down her cheeks, and Mary wordlessly handed her a handkerchief from the nightstand.

Mary returned to her room in a daze and readied herself for bed. Was Lavinia right? Was Matthew still in love with her? And what now? He was so resolute. _"I could never be with any woman."_ And whom did she love, really in that way? Richard? Matthew? In her heart, she knew it was Matthew she loved. Fondness, yes that was the most she felt for Richard. But did she want to break things off with Richard? There were certain attractions about the type of life she could have with him at her side.

And if Matthew survived, would he want her anyway, if she confessed to him about Kamal? She knew she would never, could never, be with him unless she had told him about that first. And what if he rejected her when he found out? Was it worth risking not only his love but also his friendship?

No, Matthew was far too good a man. She was damaged goods, and therefore she would have to make do with Richard. As he himself had said when she had first told him what had occurred with Kamal "_well at least that means we will come to the marriage on slightly more equal terms._"


	5. Chapter 5

Early on in her night shift the following evening, Matthew asked Mary about William for the first time.

"Not good news, I am afraid," she told him gently. "He is unlikely to last the week."

A tear rolled down Matthew's cheek. "He saved my life," he said. "Did you know that? The shell... He called out _"get down!"_ and pushed me down to the ground. That's all I remember.. till waking up here."

Pieces of the puzzle clicked into place. The war office notes had said Matthew had been found with William lying on top of him.

Mary couldn't speak. She looked down at her lap, thinking of the kind and friendly young man who now lay dying of his injuries.

Finally, she lifted her head and said steadily, "Honour his courage, Matthew, and stay alive. Fight for your life! Then his act of courage and selflessness will not have been in vain. That is what he will want."

Matthew gave her a searching look, and he was silent for a moment.

Mary was still thinking about what must have happened, a vivid image of William lying across Matthew on a bloody battlefield in her mind.

_That's probably why he didn't break his neck or end up with a head injury,_ Mary suddenly realised. It also explained why William's lung damage was so severe. He would have felt the full force of the blast. And she knew he had been found with his gas mask partly off, whilst Matthew's, thankfully, had stayed on.

"Mary…" she was suddenly aware Matthew was asking her something.. "Could you…"

"Would you like to give him a message?" she asked gently. He nodded, and she took up a pen and paper from the drawer of the bedside table.

Between each painful, shallow breath, Matthew got out a few words, that Mary managed to stitch together into a message. After a bit of to and fro to check the sentences with him, she read it back to him to make sure it was right.

_"William you saved my life. Nothing I can ever do can thank you enough for that. And I will fight to stay alive in your honour. In the months we have served together, I have come to love you like a brother. You gave me courage when I needed it so that I could lead the men. You went well beyond your duties with the help you gave to me and to Alex. You were a friendly presence in the hell we were in. I am very sad with what is happening to you. Whatever comes, know that you have my respect and love always, your affectionate friend Matthew."_

A tear rolled down Mary's cheek when she finished reading it back. "Have I got it right? Is that how you want to say it?"

Matthew nodded. He was shaking slightly and his eyes were bright. "Why am I living and he is dying Mary?" he said.

"God only knows, Matthew," she said gently. "But do what you are saying to him, and fight to stay alive, that is what William will want."

He began to cry then, pain, exhaustion and grief stripping away any vestige of emotional restraint he might normally have possessed. Mary held his hand and stroked it until he fell asleep.

She folded up the note, and put it in an envelope addressed to Edith, and then went to find Sergeant Barrow, hoping he hadn't yet left following the meeting she knew he was in with Major Clarkson. He was just collecting his papers when she went into the office.

"Sergeant Barrow," she said, "Matthew has given me a message for William. Would you mind making sure it gets to Edith this evening… it's just... well we don't know how long he's got, do we, and I think this message will be a great comfort to him."

"Yes, of course, Nurse Crawley," he said formally. He paused and then asked, "How is Captain Crawley?" and Mary was surprised to see real concern in his eyes.

"He's upset about William as you can imagine, but, I'm more worried for another reason," And she looked across at Major Clarkson at his desk, and said in a slightly louder voice so that he would hear too, "His temperature was up slightly when I last checked. I'm going to need to keep a close eye on him this evening."

She looked back at Sergeant Barrow and shook her head. "We'll just have to do the very best we can for him."

"We certainly will. And please let me know if I can organise anything else to assist, we tend to have a little more space in our day at the convalescent hospital than you do here." He bade her good-night, and left the ward carrying the letter.

"Nurse Crawley," Major Clarkson said after Sergeant Barrow had left. "Check his temperature half hourly would you? If it keeps going up, please alert the night shift Doctor, ahh, it's Doctor Green tonight." Mary nodded, and quickly returned to the ward.

Mary's fears were realised. Each time she checked, his temperature continued to rise. She had already checked all his wounds. She talked with Dr Green and he recommended that she re-check. And this time she found the source. It was the deep cut on his lower abdomen that they had had to stitch. The wound, in the few hours since she had last checked, was swollen and hot looking. She took a deep breath and went once more to find the Doctor.

Later Mary would remember that evening as the real beginning of the nightmare that stretched from weeks into months.

It took them almost a week to get the infection under control. Matthew was wracked by fever and delirium, and they struggled to get fluids into him. The delirium was often accompanied by nightmares, which judging from what he shouted out, were about the war. During that week, William died. One day after he married Daisy, in a bedside wedding.

Mary couldn't believe she was capable of so much crying. All of it hidden, of course. The hospital washroom. Her bedroom. The walk home in the dark, after the afternoon shift. Her eyes felt permanently hot and sore as a result.

When the fever finally broke, and the wound began to heal, he was considerably weakened, and he had lost his voice. There were a few days when he seemed to rally, and he started to eat again, and one day when he even managed to hold a passable, whispered conversation with Mary, asking about how she was finding her work with the hospital, and how was Edith getting on – he would like to see her if she could spare the time.

Mary took the opportunity in those few days to try and get as much food into him as possible. Isobel shared some happy news with him about her cousin's son James who had become a father for the first time, and Sybil told him some jokes, passed on from Branson, who was of the view that laughter was the best medicine.

Sybil, Matthew thought, could be very funny. She had adopted a mock serious expression and said, _"You must pretend that I am a lad telling you these. A lady could never ever let such language pass her lips!"_ She had made him smile. And he managed to add, in a whisper, that the only reason he hadn't laughed, was that it hurt, a lot, so was she all right with just a smile. At which she'd squeezed his hand.

And then he contracted pneumonia. The days took on an intensity and single focus. It was non-stop nursing, trying to manage the fever and the terrible coughing that was excruciatingly painful for him with his damaged ribs. Matthew drifted in and out of consciousness. At the end of each shift, there was the walk home in a haze of exhaustion, followed by fitful sleep. Then more of the same, the very next day.

There came a terrible night when Major Clarkson warned them he might not get through, and Isobel joined Mary on her shift, in real fear for her son's life. The breakthrough came early in the morning when by some miracle he rallied and the fever finally broke.

"William is looking over him," said Mary as she and Isobel washed up, able, with Matthew now sleeping, to finally be able to go home and rest.

"Just before he got that first infection, he got me to put in a note to William that he would fight to stay alive, as thanks for him saving his life. I think William is holding him to it."

"You may just be right, my dear," said Isobel, remembering back to a conversation she had had with Matthew when he was first conscious.

_"I never wanted this, Mother. I wanted death by a clean bullet. Not this!"_ he had said in despair.

_"This, hard as it may seem, gives you a chance at life. You'll have to fight if you want it. You heard what the Doctor said!"_ Isobel had replied firmly. _"You know what I want you to choose. What your father would want you to choose…"_

_"What William wants me to choose,"_ Matthew had finished.

_"So, what is it to be?"_ she had asked.

_"Life. Of course,"_ and despite his tears he had reached out to take her hand.

Isobel sighed and sat down on the bench in the washroom. She smoothed her skirt and said solemnly, "He's been with us six weeks now. His ribs will be mostly healed, and if we are lucky, the risk of this happening again is over. But there is still a while to go with his other injuries. He is so terribly thin and weak now, I worry how much strength he has to cope with another challenge."

Mary looked at her and noticed that Isobel herself was looking thin and tired. There was a grey tinge to her face that wasn't normally there. _It's like a high-stakes game that goes on and on. A game won or lost for someone's life,_ she thought sadly.

"Isobel," she said, coming to sit on the bench alongside her. "I wonder if we should see if you could have a couple of days to rest? This must be so hard for you, Matthew is your son!"

"Mary, I appreciate your consideration, but right now I would rather be with Matthew, tired as I am, than not," she said earnestly. "If I was not close by and something happened..." she gave a shiver. "I would never forgive myself."

Mary contemplated her words and gave a slow nod. "Of course," she gave a sad smile. "I just worry for you, that's all," she reached across and patted her hand.

Isobel was touched at her gesture. "I'll be fine," she forced a bright tone into her voice. "I just need a few hours decent sleep! As do you, my dear!" and the two of them stood up and donned their coats for the walk to their respective homes.

That evening, Sir Richard telephoned. He and Mary exchanged pleasantries, and then Sir Richard asked if she would like to spend a day with him, perhaps have lunch in York, and then visit Haxby, an estate he had purchased, and which he intended to make their home after the wedding. They could adjourn for dinner at a hotel, and he could return her home later in the evening.

Mary was surprised at her own reaction. She felt her heart sink. The idea of visiting a large empty home and discussing furniture and colour schemes seemed pointless, even vulgar.

_Why such a reaction?_ she asked herself. Was this normal? To prefer the intensity and relentlessness of nursing, to a pleasant day out? To be so disinterested in the promise of a new home, which she would have the chance to fit out and make her own?

She was suddenly aware how much she had changed, how different things were now important. She felt worthy. She had a purpose. She was appreciating, even enjoying the strong bonds of friendship and teamwork that had formed between herself, Isobel, Sybil and Sister Thomsen, even, she had to acknowledge, with the dry and formal Major Clarkson. It was an experience, unlike anything she had ever had before. It was something precious. And Matthew was still alive.

"Mary?" Sir Richard was asking. "Are you still there?"

Mary took a deep breath and tried to gather herself. "Richard, things are still very difficult here, and I'm having to nurse full time at the moment. I, I could manage, perhaps a few hours. I'm sorry."

"I'm surprised at you Mary! I would have thought you excited about seeing Haxby, and hearing my plans for it!" he said, with just the slightest tone of annoyance in his voice.

"I, I am excited. It's just I have been so busy I've not had time to really think about it," Mary tried to explain.

To her relief, Richard seemed to accept that, and he said, "Very well. You are free later on Saturday I understand? How about I pick you up on Saturday at midday? We'll go for luncheon and then my driver will take us to Haxby for a short visit. You'll be back home by afternoon tea."

"Thank you, Richard. I shall look forward to it," Mary lied.

Matthew continued to slowly improve throughout the week, and by Friday he was managing to eat more than just the broth, which had been the only thing they had been able to get into him in the immediate aftermath of his pneumonia.

Mary was relieved, and she left the hospital on Friday evening in relatively good spirits.

Perhaps it would do her good to be out of the intensity of the hospital for a while, and away from Downton. Especially with Matthew continuing to mend. It felt strange to dress up on Saturday morning and to have Anna take more care with her hair than usual.

"You look lovely, m'Lady," said Anna, standing back to admire her in her red wool suit with its stylish collar. "I'm sure Sir Richard will be most proud to have you on his arm!"

Mary smiled, "Thank you, Anna. It is nice to put on smart clothes. I haven't been away from the routine of hospital work for months!"

"A break will do you a world of good," Anna smiled.

She met Richard at the door and he took her hand and kissed it gently. He was very dashing, she observed, in his tailored suit and black greatcoat. _But not beautiful like Matthew,_ a little voice inside her said.

Over lunch, Sir Richard talked incessantly about his recent business pursuits and regaled her with stories of people with secrets that his papers had exposed. How those stories were responsible for most of the profits of his papers. How exciting it was. Like a foxhunt, culminating in the chase, and then the final kill.

Not once, save a cursory inquiry about Matthew's health, she realised with a start, had he asked her about herself or her family, and how things were going with her own work at the hospital.

Mary found herself looking at him, and listening to him as though she was meeting him for the very first time. As the lunch went on, she realised that not only was she bored by his monologue, but that his tales of conquest were actually distasteful to her. She longed for a gentle, whispered conversation with Matthew about some local news, where she was taking Diamond for a ride, how she was getting on (or not) with Edith… anything, but this gloating over others' misfortune that Richard was indulging in.

Her sense of disquiet increased when they drove up to Haxby. She knew the estate, as it had been owned by the Riddiford family, and she had played there as a child. As they walked around the grand, yet lonely halls and Richard explained his plans for modernising its kitchens and bathrooms and installing central heating, she began to feel stifled. Trapped.

It struck her that this would be her life. Her and Richard, rattling around in this huge house. Waited on hand and foot by an entourage of servants. And nothing to fill in the days except for the planning of endless social events, all designed to show Richard and herself off, as a glamorous and powerful couple that society should revere. Until she gave him children of course. And then what? Would he be a doting father? Or an absent one? Somehow she suspected the latter. Not an involved father like Matthew would have been, said the voice in her head. She shivered suddenly.

"Mary, you're very quiet," Richard observed as they left the first-floor bedroom wing and returned toward the grand staircase.

"Richard, I feel I must be frank with you. I wonder if I'm making a mistake. I wonder if what I want has shifted, is no longer common with what you want. You see I…"

He grabbed her arm roughly and pushed her against the wall. "What are you saying, Mary?" he hissed and his eyes were dark with suspicion.

"Surely you are not wanting to call us off!" The aggression in his gesture shocked her and she gasped.

"It's just... it's just I don't think this is me, being the high society hostess. Things have changed for me. What's important to me has changed and.."

Richard tugged roughly on her arm and she winced.

"Do you really think I'd let you go, just like that?" he said smiling. It was a smile that did not reach his eyes, she saw with a jolt of fear.

"Mary, I want to be a good husband to you. You will have every finery, every luxury you might ever wish for, and you and I together will rule London. But I will not condone you doubting us. You have given me the power to destroy you, and if I need to, I will use it. Do I make myself clear?"

Mary pulled her arm away, and turned and walked rapidly down the stairs and out of the house, tears stinging her eyes. She went to the vehicle, and waited rigidly for Richard's Chauffeur to hand her in. She and Richard were silent all the way back to Downton Abbey. At the house, after the Chauffeur had handed her out, and opened the door for Richard, he got out and took her hand again and kissed it.

"Thank you for accompanying me today, Mary. I trust that now we clearly understand each other." Mary nodded, her face unreadable. "Good afternoon my dear, I hope to see you again soon," and he smiled at her and got back in the car.

Mary walked, unseeing, back into the house.

Carson frowned when he saw her pale, drawn face. "M'Lady, are you all right?" he said, concerned.

"Yes, yes, of course, Carson," she answered more sharply than was necessary. "I am a little tired, that is all." and she walked rapidly up the stairs.

In the privacy of her own room, she began to pace, her mind whirling. She felt sick to her very core. Never, ever, had she imagined Richard would use her secret to force her into marriage! She paced, and cursed, and finally threw herself down on the bed. She felt dirty, defiled. There was no escape. She had ruined her own life when she flirted with Kamal Pamuk. She would never, could never, be free of the stain of it.

She slept fitfully. Her dream began with her as a happy young woman, riding on a white horse, her arms around a handsome young man. Then as Downton, her home, disappeared behind them, the man turned around and he had become Pamuk, with his dead eyes and lolling head. She screamed and tried to throw him from the horse, but there was another rider alongside, and he was laughing at her, an evil laugh. _You must carry him with you forever!_ And every time she tried to throw Pamuk from the horse, the other rider threw his dead body back. As she rode on, forced to hold him, Pamuk's body began to decompose in her arms and all around her was the smell of death and decay. She began to scream, and awoke suddenly, to find herself sweating and sobbing. She sat up and turned on the light hoping that would help. In the bathroom, she splashed cold water on her face and tried to calm down her breathing.

Returning to bed, she took out a book of poetry and tried to read to distract herself, desperate to stop the whirl of dark thoughts and disturbing images coursing through her mind. It was hard to concentrate, but the effort of just trying to focus on the words in the poems eventually stilled her mind and tired her, and she fell into an exhausted sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

On the morning shift the next day, Matthew couldn't help noticing Mary was unusually quiet. She went about her tasks diligently and carefully as always, washing his hair and giving him a sponge bath, which, he had to admit he rather enjoyed, such was the lightness and care in her touch. Twice he tried to joke with her, and she merely gave a wan smile in response.

After breakfast, she brought him a cup of tea, which he sipped, as he was now accustomed to, through the specially bent straw that enabled him to drink whilst lying down.

"Mary," he whispered, "What is it? You're not yourself."

The gentle concern in his voice made a lump come into her throat.

She took a deep breath. "Richard and I don't see things the same way. And I saw that yesterday, and…" she didn't know what else to say.

What could she possibly say? To tell him that Richard had threatened her would mean telling him about Kamal Pamuk. She could not, would not do that. Not now, when he was still so unwell. _Or, more truthfully, because you want to be able to keep nursing him_ the voice in her head was saying _because you need him. And you don't know how he'll react if you tell him. And you certainly don't want him to send you away like he did to Lavinia!_

She turned away, clutching her hand to her mouth, guilt, sadness and despair mixed up together.

She felt a light touch on her arm. Matthew had brushed his hand against it, a movement, which she knew had taken considerable effort on his part. He had become so weak after the last infection he could barely move his arms.

She turned to him and he whispered. "Mary," he took a painful breath. "If… he makes you unhappy.. now.. You know you don't have to marry him. You.. You don't have to marry anyone. If.. if I do live to become the Earl, you will have a home at Downton. Always."

Mary couldn't speak. And she didn't dare answer him, knowing that if she told him she had to marry Sir Richard, she'd have to tell him the whole, sordid story. Instead, she took his hand in hers and stroked it. After a few moments she said, "Matthew, you are so very good to me. I hope that one day I can actually deserve it." And then, gently releasing his hand she stood up and said, "It's time for your medication. I'll go and get it organised," and she walked quickly away.

Mary was hiding something. Something painful. Matthew knew it. He'd seen that look of pain in her eyes in the past. Some years before. But back then he'd thought it was something to do with him. Now he wasn't so sure. P_lease God, if you are there, give her the courage to share this secret, this burden, so that she can be free of it._

Mary was grateful for the focus nursing required of her over the next few days, as in the time between her shifts the dilemma she was in came to the fore and she spent hours pacing and worrying, struggling to sleep. Try as she might, she could not identify any realistic plan that would help free her of Sir Richard Carlisle.

And then Matthew's condition deteriorated again, and Mary's concerns rapidly took a back seat. A pressure sore on his back became infected and the infection that took hold was aggressive. Within a few days, he was very ill indeed.

For the next few weeks, they were once again nursing him with an intensity and pace that blurred the days and nights together. But there was more desperation than before. He seemed to be wasting away in front of them. He awoke for only short periods in which he was often delirious. There were several long nights where Isobel joined either Mary or Sybil, fearing that he would not make it through, after which he would rally for a few days and then deteriorate again. After one, final such harrowing night, the fever inexplicably broke, and this time it didn't return, his body finally managing to throw the infection off.

Slowly, but surely, he began to recover. As the days passed, his appetite began to come back, and bit by bit, his voice started to return.

"Dare we say he's finally out of danger?" Isobel asked Doctor Clarkson, after reporting he had actually managed to eat a reasonable helping of the stew that had been served to the patients at luncheon.

"I'm cautiously optimistic," he answered. "The wound is beginning to close and so far he has avoided re-infection. If this continues, then I'll organise an x-ray next week so we can check out his spine too. If the fractured vertebrae have fused by now, it might be time for him to start sitting up."

Isobel rejoiced to herself. Could it be that he was finally through the worst? That they could go from focusing on keeping him alive, to rebuilding his strength? _Please, God, you have got him to this point, please don't take him from us now!_

She went back to sit with him. He was terribly thin and pale, but he managed a smile. "Mother," he said, his voice weak, but there nonetheless. "Will I be all right?" He knew she had been talking with Major Clarkson.

"My darling, you have fought admirably. And it does look like you are through the worst." She kissed him on the forehead and squeezed his hand. Then, experiencing a rare wave of emotion, she stood up suddenly saying, "I'll fetch you some tea," not wanting her son to see her eyes which were suddenly bright with tears.

The x-ray the following week showed that the fractures in Matthew's back had indeed fused, and Major Clarkson informed him that in his opinion, he was through the worst and that shortly they would start getting him to sit up. "If you can manage that, then you'll be ready to move to the convalescent home to start rebuilding your strength," he said, expecting Matthew to be pleased.

Part of Matthew was pleased. It meant he'd got through the worst. And he was going to live. But he was nervous. The routine of the hospital and the constant care and companionship of his mother, Mary and Sybil had helped him keep calm and focused on the present. The prospect of moving somewhere else, of having to face other people… and of having to face a life of sitting, not standing... that was terrifying. He started to feel sick.

"Thank you, Major Clarkson," he said tightly and looked away.

Major Clarkson gave him a hard look and then left him. At the door to the ward, he said quietly to Isobel, "Keep an eye on him. I worry that he's…. fragile."

A few minutes later, what Major Clarkson had feared, was realised. Matthew was lost in a brutal flashback, shouting and swearing about the Hun and why hadn't he got someone he called Jack away before the shell.

Isobel rushed to his bedside and tried to calm him, but to no avail. With Nurse Ellison's help, they finally managed to restrain him; terrified his thrashing would re-injure his back. Working together, they managed to get a sedative into him. Finally, the sedative took effect, and he relaxed, though still not himself, and eventually fell asleep.

Isobel stayed with him, reading through some nursing journals until he awoke a few hours later.

"Matthew?" she said cautiously.

"Mother?" he answered. "What happened?" Isobel breathed a sigh of relief. Matthew was back.

"You had a flashback," she said gently. "You are suffering from shellshock."

"Oh, God," Matthew breathed. "I'm so sorry Mother! I'm so sorry."

"Don't be sorry, Matthew," she answered. "It is not your fault. It is the brutality of war that causes this. But can you remember what triggered it?"

"Major Clarkson… told me about moving to... and he wants me to try sitting up. I..." he groaned in despair. "I can't bear it Mother! I can't recover more than that and… " he began to shake.

"Matthew," she said gently. She leant forward and took both his hands in hers. "Feeling this way is totally understandable. You need to grieve. Let yourself cry if you need to. If you are able to grieve, you will be able to bear it and make something of this different life. And all of us will still be with you to help. We're not going anywhere!" and true to her word she stayed with him, talking quietly and holding his hands until his shaking finally ceased.

A lot happened in the next few weeks. Things did indeed seem to be at a turning point.

He sat up for the first time, well partially sat up, propped by many pillows in his weakened state. The first few times he became dizzy after only a few minutes, but gradually he could manage to be upright for longer and longer periods.

Edith came to visit. She was shocked at Matthew's frail appearance but didn't show it, being at this point in the war, an expert at keeping her facial expressions impassive and calm at all times.

He asked her about the convalescent home, and she told him what he could expect; how he would have his own bedroom and adjoining bathroom as he was part of the household; that there would be daily physical therapy and weekly checks with the medical staff; and that they had a social programme with regular speakers and occasional entertainment. They would make arrangements with the hospital so that he would continue to be cared for by the same nurses, to which Matthew breathed a huge sigh of relief.

She also mentioned that there were some officers there that he would know; a man named Edward who had told her he had been at Oxford with him. Apparently, he had lost an arm.

"Edward Donovan," Matthew said. "He was part of our group at Oxford. He had a junior partnership with a commercial law firm in London before the war," he explained. Edith nodded and then continued. The second name she mentioned was Evelyn Napier.

"Evelyn?" Matthew asked in surprise.

"Yes, he was wounded at Marne. He's lost part of a leg, and badly broken the other."

"Is he in a chair?" Matthew asked delicately.

"He is at the moment, but Sybil and the other physical therapists are hoping they can get him back on his feet in a few months. He's progressing quite well with his recovery so far," Edith replied.

Matthew immediately felt better. Two men that he knew and respected, both facing different lives like he would be. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad up there after all.

"And what of you, Edith? How are you faring?" he asked.

"I'm faring reasonably well," she said. "I'm very busy, but the work is satisfying. And I'm not sure if Mary has told you, but Anthony Strallan and I are engaged," she smiled. "We're hoping to marry next spring!"

"Mary had told me," Matthew said, remembering. "But I'm sorry, I think I had forgotten... I've been..."

"Don't even think to apologise, Matthew," Edith said firmly.

He gave her a wry smile and said, "I am very pleased for you Edith! You and Sir Anthony have a lot in common, and I can imagine you'll do some wonderful things with that property of his."

"That's what I'm hoping," Edith said, her face lighting up. "Combining my love for Anthony with my love for the land! But for now, I just want to see Anthony get home safely from the war." Her smile faded.

"Of course," said Matthew, and he thought to himself _and I hope he gets through whole, for your sake._

Early the next morning, just after his mother had arrived for her shift, Matthew became aware he was feeling uncomfortable, and, suddenly realising what it was, he asked his mother for a bedpan.

"A bedpan?" Isobel asked blankly.

"Mother," Matthew said his face flushed with embarrassment. "Just… hurry."

Isobel came quickly to her senses and got him sorted, and in time. _This is a real breakthrough,_ she thought. _Some sort of nerve signal was getting through. Is the paralysis not permanent after all?_

"Matthew," she said after he was settled again, "What just happened is a very good sign. Especially if it keeps up. It might mean you are regaining some of your nerve function."

"God I hope so, Mother, this is the most awful part about my injury," he said through gritted teeth. "If I could get some control back... it would make everything a lot more bearable."

"It certainly would," Isobel agreed. "But even more important is how much it could improve your life expectancy! So let's hope, and see how things go over the next little while."

Things did continue to gradually improve. And several times in the days that followed, Matthew became convinced he had felt something akin to tingling in the upper part of his right leg, although when his mother tested for it, his ability to feel the metal probe against his skin remained stubbornly absent.

At the senior nurse's check-in with Major Clarkson a week later, Isobel asked whether it might be time to seek another opinion on Matthew's condition. "He's clearly got nerve function returning with these latest developments. I wonder whether it is possible he is just suffering spinal shock?" she mused.

"Matthew's injuries are pretty serious, Isobel," countered Major Clarkson, "but this improvement in function certainly suggests that I may have been incorrect in my initial prognosis. If Matthew would like it, I could ask for one of the York specialists to reassess him."

Matthew agreed, daring to wonder for the first time since his injury, whether he might fully recover. The improvements he had sustained renewing his sense of hope.

A few days later, Major Clarkson informed him somewhat regretfully, that the earliest time the doctor could visit was more than a month away. "And I'm sorry but it will not be with the specialist I had hoped as he's currently in France," he frowned. "But they did reassure me this other chap, a Doctor Brookes, is also very good," he added. Matthew thanked him, disappointed but not surprised at the delay. It was wartime after all. He would just have to wait.

A few days later, he had a visit from Cousin Violet.

"Violet! What a pleasant surprise!" he said, genuinely pleased to see her. He'd missed her acerbic wit, and watching the sparring sessions between her and his mother. It has always been a source of great amusement to him.

"My dear Matthew," she said in her imperious voice. "I do hope you forgive me for visiting you without notice, but Isobel informs me you are finally on the mend, and as I was passing just now I thought I would take the liberty of stopping by."

He motioned her to the seat beside the bed, and she sat down heavily and rested her stick against the bedside table.

They exchanged pleasantries, and Violet asked delicately how he was about William. "Still very hard to accept," Matthew sighed. "And I miss him so much. We were together all of the time until the shell..." his voice trailed off. Violet nodded in sympathy, having had a soft spot herself for William. She told him then how Daisy was getting on, and that Daisy had asked after him. "When you are stronger I think she might like the chance to talk with you about William," she added. They were silent a moment, and then Violet smiled and said, "And my dear, I must say how good it is to see your Mother almost back to herself now that you are through the worst."

"I hope it hasn't been too awful for Mother," Matthew said, his eyes troubled. "As a son, spending months at death's door is not something that one ever wants to put their mother through."

"Of course not. But this is a reality of a War, my dear," said Violet. "It is not something you would have ever wanted for yourself either. And Isobel is a strong woman."

She paused. "And speaking of strong women, there is something else I wanted to talk with you about."

"Yes?" Matthew looked at her quizzically.

"Mary is still in love with you."

"Wh-what? Are you sure?" Matthew asked, stunned.

"I see it in her. And it's in the enormous dedication she has shown you with her nursing these past months."

"But she is engaged to Richard Carlisle!"

"Humph," Violet said and rolled her eyes. "Never mind him. A most disagreeable fellow! You loved her once. Are you sure you can't love her again?"

"Well, I.." Matthew looked across at Violet with a frown. He lifted his hands up and let them fall back on the bedclothes.

"But I'm damaged goods now Violet," Matthew said sadly. "She wouldn't possibly want me like this."

"Nonsense. Mary sees you, not your physical limitations! And she needs you, Matthew. You bring out the very best in her."

Matthew looked at her, not quite believing what she was saying. She saw the scepticism in his eyes and after a pause, she took his hand, a most uncharacteristic gesture for Violet, and said

"Matthew my dear boy. God has given you a second chance at life. Don't you think it's time that you gave yourself and Mary a second chance too?" She stared at him intently for a few moments, and then she took up her stick and heaved herself to her feet.

"I must be off. Please think seriously about what I have said." She gave him one of her kindly-but-severe looks, and then she left.

After she left, Matthew leant back on the pillows and shut his eyes, Violet's words replaying in his head. Was she right? Did Mary really love him? And what were his feelings for her? Well, he knew what they really were. But with all this, it was far safer to keep them well buried. After all, it couldn't possibly be fair to allow Mary to throw her life away in a marriage to him when they could never be lovers and she could never have children. And would she cope with the reality of a confined and routine life, when she had been raised to expect a life rich with glamour and travel?

And anyway, she was still with Carlisle. Why was that? Did she love him? Hardly, that much was obvious. Was it because he could give her children? No, he knew that wasn't it… There was something else going on. Something painful, he remembered. His mind continued to whirl with conflicted thoughts and unable to resolve any of them, he eventually fell into a fitful sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

The move to Downton Abbey convalescent home did not go well. Mary and Sybil had planned to cover the afternoon and evening shifts that Matthew was first there, making sure he settled in. The unexpected arrival of two truckloads of injured men to the hospital put paid to their plans, with Major Clarkson telephoning the Abbey and seeking that they both return immediately, barely an hour after Matthew had arrived.

Mary could see that Matthew was clearly overwhelmed, firstly by the trip on the stretcher in the bumpy ambulance, and then by being placed in the wheelchair for the first time and taken to his room. And she worried that him being in a room alone might not be the best – there had been some comfort in the busyness and comings and going of the ward at the hospital.

"Matthew, I am so sorry I have to go, I'll be back as soon as I can, all right?"

He'd said tightly "I'll be fine," but she knew he was not. She tried, without success to find Edith to keep an eye on him, but she was nowhere to be seen. She looked for one of the duty nurses, ignoring the toot from the car waiting outside. She couldn't find anyone, and when there was a second toot from the waiting car, she left reluctantly, and let Branson hand her in beside Sybil.

"I'm not sure Matthew is going to cope," she said worriedly to Sybil as Branson drove them to the hospital. "He didn't seem himself, and I couldn't find anyone to be with him before I left."

Sybil frowned. "When we get to the hospital, see if you can phone home and get someone to check on him. I don't feel very comfortable with him left alone like that either."

Later, Matthew wasn't sure what set him off. Something had banged. Shortly afterwards, the duty nurse found him on the floor of his room in a highly distressed state in the middle of a flashback. He had managed to badly bruise his shoulder falling from the bed. He could not be calmed, and in the end, they had to sedate him. He slept until the next morning, and when he awoke, he was not himself.

The world was without colour. There was no taste to the food he was coaxed to consume, and he felt disembodied. As though he was observing his life from somewhere else.

Talking to anyone was an effort, so for the most part, he didn't bother. Day and night seemed little different, meaningless.

He let them wheel him to the physical therapy sessions and did the painful, humiliating exercises imposed on him with little effort. There was no point. He really would be better off dead.

Even Sybil couldn't get a smile out of him, try as she might with some new jokes, courtesy of Branson and the lads he spent time with at the Grantham Arms. At night, when he did finally fall asleep, the nightmares returned, and he would wake up shouting, and drenched in sweat.

"He is depressed," Major Clarkson told Isobel, without ceremony, when there had been no improvement for more than a week. "I have been expecting that this would happen, at some point. It is extremely common in the soldiers with permanent injuries, and especially when they start to realise the implications, which for some reason, has happened for him now with this move to the Abbey."

"What can we do?" said Isobel, worry etched on her face. She had seen Matthew low before, but never like this. The flashbacks were happening daily, and the light had gone out of his eyes.

"Keep talking to him, even if he doesn't talk back. Keep him in a busy routine. Make sure he's getting outside every day the weather allows for it. Being out of doors seems to help," he advised.

"It's like he's lost months of progress," Mary said sadly when Isobel came to see her and Sybil later that afternoon and update her on what Major Clarkson had said.

"We just have to keep being there for him, even when he seems to not want us," Isobel said. "And hope that he'll start to come out of it." She told Mary and Sybil what Major Clarkson's advice was, and what Edith had shared with her: she, too, had had some useful advice, having seen a number of patients at the home in a similar state to Matthew.

Slowly, he did start to come out of it. Mary noticed it first. One warm, fine afternoon, she noticed he started to look around, rather than just staring at his lap, when she wheeled him outside through the gardens. It had been a glorious day, and the afternoon shadows shimmered with heat through the branches of the trees. Encouraged, she wheeled the chair a bit further than she had before, through to one of the benches from which they had a view towards the lake, and the forest on the hill beyond. She sat on the bench, next to him. They were silent for some time, and then he said unexpectedly, "It's nice here," and he looked at her fully, for the first time in some weeks. "I used to come up here from the village and sit here after work sometimes, and watch the sun go down."

"Really?" Mary said. "Do you know, when I was a girl, this was where I would come to read… And watch the sun go down too." She smiled at the memory, and then her smile widened as she realised she and Matthew shared in common that enjoyment of watching the sun go down from this very spot.

He asked her about her books then, and what she liked to read when she was a girl. They discovered that Nesbit's _Five Children and It_, and Kipling's _Just So_ stories were among the favourites they had in common.

Mary liked _The Cat that Walked by Himself_, and Matthew's favourite was _The Elephant's Child_.

"Why that one?" Mary asked.

"I could identify with him. The curiosity. I liked how he, the one with the 'satiable curiosity' came out on top in the end. Especially when he got to spank them back," He gave a rare smile, which greatly heartened Mary to see.

"And why did you like the cat?" he asked her.

"As I got older, and started to see the reality of the constrained life of an aristocratic woman ahead, the more I sought some way, some respite to keep my sense of self. I liked the cat because he somehow managed to do that, despite the Man and the Woman and the Dog thinking they had it over him." She paused. "I love that line," and she quoted from memory _"But when he has done that, and between times, and when the moon gets up and night comes, he is the Cat that walks by himself, and all places are alike to him."_

"And what now? Is it still hard to keep your sense of self?" Matthew looked at her intently.

She sighed. "Not right now. Not doing this war work. But..." she looked away, the uncertainty of her future with Richard looming large in her mind.

She forced herself to look back at him again and smiled, not wanting to dwell on what might come. They looked at each other steadily for a few moments.

"You are very beautiful, you know," Matthew said, almost to himself.

Mary blushed, taken aback at his unexpected words of affection. "Thank you. So are you, do you know that?" she said, surprising herself in making such a forward statement to a man.

"Maybe before. But not now," and his face fell. The light was gone from his eyes again.

"Definitely still now," she said, taking his hand. "A bit thin is all!" and she looked him in the eye with another smile. He didn't smile back, but she felt the slightest squeeze of her hand in response.

That sat a while longer, and then Matthew stifled a yawn and shifted his shoulders uncomfortably.

"Would you like to go back now?" she said gently. He nodded, and she stood and wheeled him back towards the house, the sun lowering towards the horizon as they went.

Later that week, he was in the recreation room, a book open on his lap when Evelyn wheeled himself up beside him.

"Matthew," he said. "How's it going old chap? I've hardly seen you since you got here," he smiled. Evelyn was thinner and more pale than he remembered, _but then aren't we all up here_, he thought, aware of how his own army uniform was swimming on him.

Matthew looked at Evelyn and saw compassion and understanding in his eyes. He paused for a moment and said "Not that great, to be honest. In some strange way, it was far easier being in the hospital. This," he gestured the chair, "This, I cannot get used to." He shook his head and looked away towards the window.

"I was like that when I first got here," Evelyn said grimly. "All these medics, their guise of forced positivity, and all I could think about was that I would have been better off left in the mud at the front."

"Did you think that too?" Matthew asked in surprise, turning to stare at him.

Evelyn nodded. "Looking back, I think it's because it all seems so overwhelming. When you're brought up like we were… I mean people who weren't whole were people you wouldn't talk to... almost like they were not human. And then when you find yourself in that category…" he looked down, to where the part of his missing leg used to be. "It's one hell of a shock to the system," he swore.

"Mmm," said Matthew, thinking of how hard it was to just be with oneself when one was no longer 'whole' as Evelyn so aptly put it. He was reminded of the contemptible manner in which Bates had been treated by the other Downton staff when he had first come to work for Robert. How their prejudicial attitudes had almost forced Bates to leave; it had seemed that the man had to prove that he could do his job, not just adequately, but superlatively, before the whispering and the innuendo about him being a cripple finally stopped.

"So, how do you do it? How do you get through?" Matthew asked.

"I think you have to get a bit selfish, you know. And realise you've as much right to be here and to be having a decent life as the next man. Otherwise, what are we doing? Continuing to punish ourselves when we've already paid a terrible price in the service of our country?"

He paused and drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair.

"Anyhow, that's how I've come to terms with it for me."

Matthew sat back and sighed. They sat in silence for a while, and then he said, "Thanks for that Evelyn."

Evelyn gave him a small smile. "Give yourself some time Matthew. It will get easier." Then he picked up the newspaper and began to read.


	8. Chapter 8

Dr Brookes arrived half an hour late, complaining that the train had been delayed. His grumbling was enough for Matthew to take an instant dislike to him. He started to object when Isobel insisted on staying with Matthew and Major Clarkson in the examination room, until Matthew said firmly, "My mother is a senior nurse, and she has been heavily involved in my care these past months. I insist that you let her remain. And I also insist that she be able to ask you questions, as I believe her knowledge will be helpful to you."

Dr Brookes harrumphed, but said, "Very well," and he began to bark instructions at Matthew.

_Some bedside manner_, Matthew thought in disgust. The examination took some time, and Matthew was exhausted at being poked and prodded and moved around by the end of it. He was very glad that he had got his mother to stay. She managed to keep a steady stream of questions going in Dr Brooke's direction when Matthew had long given up, Dr Brooke's patronising replies starting to defeat him.

When it finally concluded, Dr Brookes was silent for some minutes, and then he looked up and said, "This is my opinion of your situation, Captain Crawley."

"In my view, your spinal cord has been transected, but probably only partially, given you have had some improvement in function. There may be some further marginal improvement, but I do not believe there will be much.

"And on the matter of a return to work, which Sister Crawley informed me you are looking to do in time, I cannot see under any circumstance how you will recover sufficiently to offer any employer an honest day's work. You are an invalid now and the sooner you accept that the better.

"Good day, Captain Crawley," and he stood to leave. "My written report to Major Clarkson will follow," he said turning to exit the room.

"But but..." Isobel protested, also getting to her feet, many unanswered questions on her lips.

"Sister Crawley, I really must be going. My time is precious you know," and with that, he bade them goodbye and left.

Isobel sat back down and exclaimed, "What a horrid little man!"

Major Clarkson rolled his eyes. "And he's supposed to be an expert." He gave a loud sigh.

They both looked at Matthew. He was silent, and his head was bowed.

"Matthew," Major Clarkson countered gently, "I wouldn't put much on what the man said, he overlooked some significant facts and didn't take into account..."

"Well, he's right, isn't he?" Matthew interrupted. "It's time I stopped pretending I might be getting better, and accept I'll be a good for nothing invalid for the rest of my life!" he said bitterly.

Isobel looked at him, her lips tightly pressed together. She was furious with Dr Brookes, and now she despaired for Matthew. He'd just been coming right again, and now this horrid little man had not only dashed his hopes: he had insulted and patronised him.

_Men like that give the medical profession a bad name!_ Isobel seethed to herself. _Stepping well beyond a professional boundary!_

"Matthew," she said firmly. "I agree with Major Clarkson. The man is not worth listening to!"

Matthew said nothing. He just looked at her, and the light was out of his eyes again.

The next few days were difficult. Matthew was irritable and despondent, and nothing anyone did seemed to cheer him up.

One night after dinner, Robert came into the recreation room and asked if Matthew had some time to assist him in an investment matter. Duty battled despondency in his mind as he pondered Robert's request.

"Yes, of course, Robert," he muttered finally. He was a guest in Robert's house for god's sake and best he at least attempt being gracious. Looking pleased, Robert took him to the small library, parking Matthew's wheelchair in front of the desk. He fetched the files and sat down beside him and explained what he was unsure about.

In a surprise to himself, Matthew found the task absorbing, even, dare he admit it, enjoyable. But by the time he had managed to get through reading the papers, and started to advise Robert on just some of the matters of concern, he had a pounding headache and a cramp in his neck and shoulders from sitting for so long. Despair and hopelessness reared up again as the pain became too much to bear.

"Robert," he said stiffly, "would you mind taking me to my room, I.."

"Yes, yes of course, perhaps we have been too long at it?" Robert asked, instantly concerned. "You've been very helpful already with what you've told me tonight. It's enough for me to start on! And there is no urgency, we can continue where we left off tomorrow."

Matthew didn't register Robert's gratefulness, nor his reassurance that they could continue tomorrow. _So useless. Can't even get through one file. No good to anyone, not now, not ever_, said a voice in his head, a voice that sounded just like Dr Brookes.

When they arrived at his room, Robert called for a nurse, and then he sat beside Matthew to wait.

"Matthew, I..." he began, about to thank him again, when Matthew cut him off. "Robert, I am sorry to be such a disappointment to you."

"Matthew, you are not a disappointment! You helped me tonight. You are a marvellous asset to the Estate! You are very early in your recovery. I was wrong to expect to get it all done at once," he said, alarmed at Matthew's tone.

"I meant what I said. I'm a disappointment to you, and to myself. It'll take a man who's more than I am now to follow you. So don't think about me," and Matthew looked down at his lap.

"My dear chap, how can you say that? I never think about anything else!" Robert exclaimed.

The nurse arrived then, and Matthew wouldn't look at Robert. So it was with a deep sense of anguish that Robert left, patting Matthew briefly on the shoulder when he went.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Isobel was tired. It had been a very hard morning at the hospital, with several difficult cases to oversee. On top of everything, they were training another group of young volunteer nurses, which meant the rounds took twice as long. Just before morning tea, one of them had fainted and cut her head whilst Isobel was instructing her in how to clean a particularly nasty abdominal wound on one of the incoming soldiers. The girl's father had been angry when she telephoned him to fetch her. She was looking forward to seeing Matthew and hoped that he might cheer her up.

She entered his room, cheerily calling out, "Good afternoon, my dear!" He was seated in his chair by the window.

"Good afternoon, Mother," he replied, looking across at her. But there was no smile on his face.

Isobel sighed and sank tiredly onto the edge of his bed. In a vain attempt to lighten his mood, she enquired as to how Edward was getting on. She asked when he had last had a letter from Alex. And then she asked how things were going helping Robert with the estate investment decision he had to make. Matthew fired back a staccato of one-word replies. Isobel looked at her son and she didn't like what she saw in his face.

"Matthew," she said tightly. "Are you depressed? Because if you are, we are going to see the Doctor right now!" Matthew shook his head and instead he just looked angry.

"So what is this?" She asked.

"There's just no point," Matthew said tiredly, and then he said, his voice uncharacteristically hard, "I'm never going to get better. I'm going to be a burden on other people for the rest of my life." He paused and looked across at her, his eyes dark. "Mother, I wish they'd left me to die at the front!" he burst out.

It was the last straw. She was already exhausted and overwrought, and she had been worrying about him for weeks now. The defeat and bitterness of his words hit her so hard that she felt like she had been punched. She looked at him, and then she began to sob.

Matthew was horrified. His mother never cried. The last time he had seen her cry was the day of his father's funeral. He stared at her, not knowing what to do, and a huge wave of guilt hit him. He had caused this. He had made his dear, sweet, hardworking mother cry! And not just cry. Isobel was sobbing loudly and her whole body was shaking.

"Mother, mother, I'm so sorry," he started to say, and using every ounce of strength he possessed in his weakened state, he managed to wheel the chair slowly across to her.

"How can you say that Matthew!" she choked. "After all you've been through, and how you have managed to survive against the odds!"

She continued to sob, and then a few moments later, her sobbing grew even harder and she said, her voice anguished, "I can't bear you being like this! I want my son back!"

Matthew felt another hard stab of guilt. How had he let himself talk of wanting to die, in front of his very own mother?

"Mother," he said desperately, taking her hand. "I'm here, and I'm not going away," he said feeling completely mortified. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it. I didn't think!"

Isobel said nothing. She just continued to cry. He pulled open the drawer on the bedside table and gave her a handkerchief. Then he poured her a glass of water from the jug.

"Mother," he said gently, holding out the glass of water. "This might help."

She took the glass wordlessly, some water slopping out onto her dress her hands were shaking so hard. Matthew steadied her hand and helped her hold the glass to her lips.

Her sobs began to quieten a little, and after a time, Matthew said, "Mother, I'm so sorry. I just don't know what to do. I don't know how to get myself through this," he said sadly. Isobel continued to cry at that, and as he looked at her feeling utterly wretched, he thought suddenly of his father. His father who had so wisely counselled him when he had been a boy, and who had also been a highly respected physician. It came to him that if his Father was still alive, he would have something to say. Something helpful.

He looked at Isobel. "Mother, can I ask you something… what did Father say to his patients… when they were like me? What did he tell them?"

Isobel's crying quieted once more. She looked up at him for the first time, her eyes red and swollen. He automatically reached for another handkerchief from the drawer and passed it to her. She wiped her eyes, and blew her nose, and then set the handkerchief down.

"Matthew," she said finally, her voice shaking a little. "I will tell you. But I need to know that you will actually listen to me. Listen to me, and listen to what your father would have said. And stop listening to whatever nonsense is going on inside your head.

"And if some of that nonsense was fed to you by that horrid little man Dr Brookes then you need to know that in all my time as a nurse, he is without a doubt one of the worst and most unprofessional Doctors I've ever had the misfortune to meet! I am very sorry we ever got him to see you!"

"Mother, please don't apologise, you were not to know! And... And you are right. I was choosing to listen to him, over your and Major Clarkson's good counsel," he said, suddenly feeling ashamed. _What was that about Matthew_, he asked himself. _What allowed you to let that man get to you, against the counsel of those who care for you and know you far better?_

He took a deep breath. "Mother, I am listening," and this time Isobel could see he really meant it.

"Your father had quite a few patients like yourself... soldiers from the Boer war, and then men who had been in terrible industrial accidents... machinery in factories," she said and shuddered involuntarily.

"His advice to them was always the same. There were three main things he would say, and he would tell them those things over and over if he needed to.

She paused and looked at him. "Go on," he said, "I'm listening."

The first thing he would say was _"find a way to look after those that need you."_ And remember, some of them were facing challenges far worse that what you are facing. He'd say, "_even if you are in bed, find a way. Looking after people is not just physical or monetary, it can be done in other ways."_

She looked at him. "Do you understand, Matthew?" He nodded. "Like smiling at your mother when she walks in and enquiring after her day?" he said, rolling his eyes as he thought about how unwelcoming he had been when she had arrived that afternoon.

Isobel raised her eyes at him in assent, and then she went on.

"The second thing he would say is _"focus on what you can do, not what you can't."_ And he always thought that was the most important thing. And for a lot of people like yourself Matthew, who are only at the very beginning of recovery, that list of things will get longer and longer.

"The final thing he'd say is that _"it's up to you to make people feel comfortable around you, it's not up to them."_ Do you understand what that's about Matthew?"

"Not exactly," he pondered.

"Well, you will find when you start getting out and about again, that not everyone can deal with someone in a wheelchair," she said bluntly. "It's up to you to make them feel comfortable. Not the other way around."

Matthew looked at her quizzically, but then he nodded. "I suppose that makes sense, I mean if I were in their shoes... I wouldn't know what to say... in case I said the wrong thing."

"Exactly. So you need to be the one to make the effort. And with some people, it will be easier than others."

"Yes, like the difference between the way Cora treats me, and the way Robert does," Matthew said dryly, thinking of the way Cora never seemed to 'see' him.

Isobel's mouth twitched. "Yes, just keep being pleasant and talkative towards Cora, and eventually, she'll come around!"

They both laughed together for a minute. In his stronger moments, Matthew had found Cora's inability to look at him in his wheelchair almost comical and had told his mother as much.

Isobel was silent, wanting to say more, but not sure how. Right now, she realised with a pang, she could really do with Reginald's advice.

She had always found Matthew's stubbornness hard to deal with, partly because it was a trait she knew too well in herself. Reginald had somehow been able to connect with his young son when he was being stubborn, not to mention how he'd had a way of helping her to see sense in her own such moments.

"Your father was a wonderful person Matthew," Isobel said wistfully. "And a highly respected doctor. I was so very proud to be his wife and to work with him. I learned an awful lot from him."

"I miss him, Mother," Matthew said. "Robert has been wonderful, but he is not Father."

"What do you think your Father would say to you now?" Isobel asked him suddenly.

Matthew was silent a moment, and then he took his mother's hand again.

"I think, I think he would say I owe it to you, and to myself, to be the best son I possibly can. And I also think, in fact I know he'd say, that it's up to me to make the most of my life, and not let others decide what that is... like that awful Dr Brookes," and he gave a heavy sigh.

"I'm really sorry Mother."

Isobel squeezed his hand. She was quiet for a few minutes, thinking, wanting to make sure of her words before she next spoke. She took a deep breath.

"Matthew, you came very close to death these past months. We almost lost you several times. God has given you a second chance," She took his hand again and clasped it in hers.

"As your mother, I need you to embrace that chance you have as fully as you can. You are my son, and I need you in my life. I need your support and I need your friendship and love."

"I have been so very scared, all those times I feared I might lose you," and her voice shook. "And yet you have survived, against the odds! For you to have that chance, it must mean God sees that you have an awful lot to give. So I never, ever, ever want to hear you say again that you would be better off dead. Do you understand?" Tears were streaming down her face again.

Matthew clasped both his hands around hers, and nodded wordlessly, tears streaking his own cheeks. He was full of guilt and remorse over how he had hurt his mother so deeply. Yet at the same time, he felt lighter. The deep sense of hopelessness that had been overwhelming him had lessened. His mother sharing his father's wise words had given him something to focus on. A way forward.

After a few minutes, he released her hands and reached for the pull cord to summons a nurse.

"Mother, I'm going to call Branson to take you home. I'm also going to organise for Major Clarkson to give you tomorrow off so you can rest properly."

Isobel couldn't resist smiling at his tone. Matthew taking charge! That was more like it. "Thank you, my dear," she gave his hand a grateful squeeze in return.

The nurse arrived, and Matthew asked her to call Branson, and then he asked her to come back afterwards to help him with some other tasks.

After she left, Isobel sat with Matthew a while longer, and then she stood, still shaky, and picked up her coat and bag.

"I love you Mother," Matthew said as she went to leave. She leant over and kissed him on the forehead.

"I love you too my darling boy."

When the nurse returned, Matthew got her to take him to the telephone in the hall. First up, he called Major Clarkson.

"Captain Crawley, how may I help? Are you unwell?" he enquired.

"No, it's not me Major Clarkson. I am ringing to ask you a favour."

"And what might that be?"

"Could you please organise the roster tomorrow so that my mother does not need to work. She is exhausted and she needs to rest."

"What has brought this on?" Major Clarkson asked, concerned. There was a silence. Finally, Matthew said, "I upset her."

"You upset her?" he echoed.

"Yes. Badly. And I would like to see her have some time to get a proper rest. You know how hard she works. Is there some way somebody else could do her shift just this once?"

"Of course. There is more than one nurse here who will gladly fill in to give Sister Crawley an overdue and much-deserved break!" After agreeing he would telephone Crawley House to let her know, Doctor Clarkson paused. "And are you all right Matthew?" he asked solicitously, dispensing with his usual formality over names.

Matthew sighed audibly and said. "I am Sir. You could say that Mother has given me a virtual clip around the ear. But in true Mother style, it was done with a lot of love and support. So yes, I am."

Major Clarkson chuckled. "I'm pleased to hear it. Now do look after yourself. You are dealing with a lot and you must give yourself time to adjust," he said kindly."

"Thank you, Sir," Matthew was grateful for the older man's concern. He bade him good afternoon, and after hanging up, made another call, this one to the Dower house. Violet was similarly concerned and then amused when she heard what had happened. She agreed immediately to Matthew's request that she take Isobel out for a break.

"As a matter of fact, it gives me a very pleasant excuse to attend a piano concert I heard is happening tomorrow afternoon in Ripon," she told him.

His telephone calls completed, Nurse Ellison took him back to his room and he asked for his meal to be brought in rather than eating in the mess hall with the other officers. He wanted some time alone to think.

He replayed the events of the afternoon in his head. How had he allowed himself to lose sight of what was important? Like being there for his precious mother? Why had he put the words of the horrid Dr Brookes ahead of the encouragement and support he had consistently been getting from her and Major Clarkson, not to mention Mary and Sybil?

Later that evening, after Sister Thomsen had settled him for the night, he made himself a promise. To follow his father's advice, and not allow anyone else to stop him from hearing it. _Especially odious little doctors,_ he told himself firmly.

When he finally slept, he dreamed that he and Mary were together out near the lake, watching the sun go down. They were talking. Then laughing over something. Later in the dream, they were back there again, this time wowed into silence as a rising moon spilled a glittering silver path across the water. And when Matthew awoke the next morning, he felt at peace for the first time since he had been back at Downton Abbey.


	9. Chapter 9

A few days after his conversation with Isobel, Matthew was in the small library reading the paper. He found himself thinking about what his father had said: _Find a way to support those who need you_ and he realised he had not seen Daisy, nor corresponded with Mr Mason since William's death. The two people closest to William, both of whom knew little of what had happened for him in his last months.

On impulse, he rang the bell. When Carson arrived, he asked if Daisy could spare a few minutes to talk with him. Carson returned and said she could be spared mid-afternoon, and it was agreed Daisy would come to his room and see him then.

When Daisy arrived, she knocked and stood shyly at the door to his room.

"Come in, Daisy," Matthew said kindly. She came in and stood timidly, a black armband for William on the upper sleeve of her dress.

"How are you?" he asked.

"I'm doing all right," she said, still a little shy. "Things are very busy, what with the meals for the patients and all. But I like it busy. It helps to keep my mind off things."

"That is true. It must be very busy indeed for you downstairs, and there is something comforting about having a lot to do," he said.

She nodded at him and gave a small smile.

"I want you to know that I was very sorry I was too ill to come to William's funeral. I would have liked to have paid my respects," Matthew began, and then Daisy interrupted saying,

"Please don't say sorry Mr Matthew! The message you sent, William was so very touched, he really was. It made a big difference to him. His Dad read it to him. It helped him too. And me.

"And besides, we all know you were with him at the funeral in spirit!" she said, looking down to hide the tears pricking the back of her eyes.

"You were a very good man to him, Mr Matthew," she finished looking him in the eye for the first time.

"He was very good to me too Daisy. I miss him a lot," Matthew said in a low voice. He paused, trying to compose himself. His grief over William was still raw. Perhaps because until very recently, he had been too ill and too caught up in his own situation to even face the reality that William had not come back. That the friendly, unassuming, yet surprisingly clever soldier-servant he had spent virtually every moment with for months on end had gone for good.

Daisy looked away, her own eyes still misty. She looked back when Matthew spoke again, calmer this time.

"Daisy, when is your next day off? I was wondering if you might accompany me to visit Mr Mason. Major Clarkson will allow me out if it's not for long. There are some things I'd like to share with you both about William."

Daisy put her hand to her mouth in surprise. "You want to see Mr Mason, with me, and talk about William?" she said humbly.

"Of course," he said kindly. "But only if it would suit, mind."

"I know that he would like that very much, Sir. And so would I!

"I'll tell you what," she said suddenly. "I'll write a note to Mr Mason tonight. My next day off is Sunday week. He usually invites me on a Sunday. I can see if that one will work. Then I'll come and visit you when I get his reply," she said quickly.

She looked across at him again smiling. "And Mr Matthew, it is so very good to see you getting better. It really is! You've had us all very worried downstairs. But I better stop chatting and go now, or Mrs Patmore will start to fuss."

"Best not let that happen!" Matthew said returning the smile. "I'll look forward to hearing from you," and they bade each other good afternoon.

Ten days later, on a grey Sunday afternoon, Branson drove Matthew and Daisy the short distance to Mr Mason's farm. He parked the car outside the entrance to Mr Mason's farmhouse, a humble stone building with the windows each side of the door graced by pretty window boxes full of flowers.

Mr Mason came out to greet them, and he helped Branson lift Matthew from the vehicle and into the wheelchair.

"I'll see you back here in an hour, Captain," Branson farewelled them all, and climbed back into the driver's seat. Daisy was planning to spend the rest of the afternoon with Mr Mason, who would bring her back in his horse and trap later.

Daisy wheeled Matthew inside, and they were greeted by the aroma of freshly baked scones, and the kettle brewing on the stove ready for tea.

The modest farmhouse kitchen was simply but cheerfully furnished, and a vase of flowers stood on the table, which was covered with a pretty blue and white checked cloth.

It was warm with the fire from the grate, and Daisy walked around checking out this and that, clearly at home in her father-in-law's cottage.

Matthew smiled as he watched her. It was nice to see her in an environment where she could be fully herself, away from the formality of the Abbey.

"Captain Crawley, it is an honour to have you to visit," Mr Mason said as he busied himself pouring the tea and passing the scones, jam and cream.

"I'm pleased I'm able to visit you at last Mr Mason," said Matthew. "It feels like it has been too long. And you really didn't need to go to all this trouble!" he said gesturing the platter of scones.

"Of course I needed to go to this trouble!" Mr Mason smiled. "I just hope the scones are as good as the ones Daisy makes. She gave me some tips last time she was here!"

Mr Mason was a smaller, slighter version of William, his hair now greying at the temples. The scones, predictably, were delicious, and Matthew asked what it was that made them so good, the answer being a little sour milk and melting the butter, not rubbing it in.

They exchanged village news, and Matthew enquired about the farm. Mr Mason was one of Lord Grantham's tenants. He described the mixed cropping and livestock system he was operating, and Matthew was impressed with what he heard. Mr Mason was clearly one of the more progressive of the tenants: he was investing in new methods and machinery, and the returns he mentioned were well over what Matthew knew some of the other tenants were making.

"I'm hoping I can convince Daisy here to take on the tenancy in a few years," he said. "But at the moment her career as a cook is taking priority!" he said proudly. "But imagine her here, all the little extras she could produce, the lovely baked goods she makes; not to mention what she could do with the local produce! I think she could really give the farm a new lease of life, not to mention some new income."

"I'm sure you could," Matthew said smiling at Daisy. "Are you as keen on it as Mr Mason is for you?" he asked her.

"It's definitely something on the horizon," she said shyly. "But I need to get better at figures! To be a farmer means being a business woman, and I haven't had the schooling Mr Matthew," her smile fading a little.

"Have you considered doing a course by correspondence, Daisy?" enquired Matthew. "I know there are quite a few such courses around, designed for people already working. Someone as capable as you of hard work would easily cope with the course load."

"Do you think so?" Daisy asked. "Really?"

"I don't see why not! And I'd imagine you could get some help from the likes of Mrs Hughes... and as I recall, Mr Molesley is not too bad with his figures either," Matthew said, remembering how often Mr Molesley had been in helping Mrs Bird out of yet another pickle with the kitchen budget at Crawley House.

Daisy looked at Mr Mason. "There you are Daisy, you heard Mr Matthew. Something you could do if you wanted!" he smiled. "I keep telling you, you are a clever lass!"

Daisy looked pleased, and then she turned to Matthew and said shyly, "Sir, please tell us some more about William."

Matthew thought for a minute and started on some of the funny stories he had, like the time William had mistakenly addressed their battalion General as Private Smith, as the officers had taken to removing their insignia to avoid becoming targets for the Germans.

"William was mortified," Matthew chuckled. "But lucky for him General Smith laughed and said, "It's always a good day when the disguise works, isn't it Private Mason, or I wouldn't be here, back from the front to enjoy your insult!"

Daisy and Mr Mason laughed at that, and then Matthew told them how he and his commanding officer Colonel Shipton had started involving William in their strategy discussions after he had shown a real adeptness for thinking ahead, and second guessing, correctly, what the enemy might be planning to do.

"He was a huge asset to us. I have to say we would have lost twice as many men in some of the battles if it hadn't been for his advice when we were doing the planning. We'd spend ages tossing ideas back and forth, and he'd always think of another angle," Matthew said shaking his head.

Mr Mason was quiet. "Such a shame for more than just us that he didn't make it then," he said sadly.

"It is indeed," said Matthew. "When Alex last wrote me he said, "_I need you, and I need a William, no one else comes close."_ We were a good team," he swallowed, and looked away.

"And is Colonel Shipton still at the Front?" Mr Mason asked after a pause.

"Yes, he is. And I hope to God he makes it back alive and healthy," said Matthew fervently. "I know he will want to meet you, Mr Mason."

They were all silent for a while, and Mr Mason handed around another cup of tea. "Tell me," Matthew asked eventually, "Did William manage to finish his schooling?"

"He got two years of higher schooling," Mr Mason said heavily. "He was very good at his writing. But then his mother got ill, and he had to leave. I couldn't manage the farm on my own, not with nursing her as well."

"Of course not," said Matthew, understandingly. "I was asking, as he ended up helping me with an awful lot of paperwork as well and he proved very good at it. Like the correspondence to the families of the soldiers we lost. There were so many…" Matthew's voice shook. "I couldn't keep up with them all... so we'd split the task. And then I'd just sign the ones he wrote."

"If William had lived," Matthew continued, "I was going to offer him an apprenticeship."

"What do you mean?" Mr Mason asked, confused.

"To train as a law clerk," Matthew answered.

Mr Mason gasped and Daisy's mouth fell open in surprise. "He, my William, he could have been a law clerk?" Mr Mason said, stunned.

Matthew nodded. "Absolutely. And I would have seen to it he had the support to complete the necessary papers. I couldn't have done what I did at the front those last months, without the help he gave me," he said sadly.

Mr Mason looked at him, stricken-faced. "He could have... had a well-paid job, maybe even bought his own home," he shook his head. "Well. I never..."

He was quiet a moment, and then he lifted his head and looked directly at Daisy and Matthew.

"William lost his chance. But you both still have yours. William believed in you both… as you believed in him. So do my William proud. Make something of your lives. Make sure his sacrifice was not in vain. That can be his legacy."

When it came time to leave, and Matthew was settled back in the car, Mr Mason leant in and shook his hand. "You visiting today means an awful lot Captain Crawley. It's brought me a lot of peace hearing about what William was up to over there. Knowing what he was doing, and making me proud. And I'm pleased he spent his last months in the company of the fine man you are." He clasped his other hand over the top of Matthew's and gave his hands a brief squeeze.

Matthew was quiet on the way home. He felt quite shaken up, as much as he was pleased he had been able to talk properly with Daisy and Mr Mason for the first time. Being in Mr Mason's home he felt the loss of William most acutely. Eventually, Branson looked at him in the rear vision mirror and asked, "How was it?"

"I was glad to see him at last," Matthew said. "And talk about William. And for Daisy to hear it all too.

"But it's very hard all the same. I miss him terribly you know. We lived in each other's pockets, dicing with death, day in and day out for months. It could have so easily been the other way round, but at his expense, and my benefit, he died and I lived. I still find that hard to accept." He sighed.

"It was in the hands of the Gods, Captain," Branson said gently. "There's no reason to things like this. Honour his loss by making the most of what you have. That's what he'd want."

"That's exactly what Mr Mason said to me and Daisy you know," said Matthew. "That we both need to do the best we can in our lives, in his memory."

"And he's right. And you're a good man for going to see him." Branson gave him a small smile in the rear vision mirror.


	10. Chapter 10

"What are your plans for this weekend?" Matthew asked Mary a few days after his visit to Mr Mason with Daisy.

"Richard is coming to dinner on Saturday evening," she said, her voice unreadable, as she wheeled him through the rose garden. "He wants us to set a wedding date."

"Are you excited about it?" Matthew asked.

Mary paused, and stopped pushing the chair. Then she gave a rather odd answer.

"I hope that I might eventually be... but now I can't say that I am to be honest."

"Mary, please come where I can see you," Matthew said gently. She walked around and perched herself on the garden wall on the side of the path, facing him.

"Do you remember what I told you before, when I was in the hospital?" Matthew asked. "The day you had argued with Carlisle, and you weren't sure you had enough in common with him anymore?"

Mary nodded.

"That's still my advice. You don't have to marry him. You don't have to marry anyone if you don't want to!" he said.

He looked at her, and saw pain in her eyes.

"Matthew... I do have to marry him." she said, her voice suddenly hard.

"Why?" he pressed. "You don't look happy about it. And I thought marriage was about wanting to be with someone, not going into something half hearted."

"That may be for the middle classes, but it's not for someone in my position," Mary said with an air of defeat. "Sometimes we must just live with the choices we have made."

Matthew was confused by her reply. He paused and then asked her quietly, "Mary, what on earth do you mean? Why do I get the sense you are hiding something? What is it?"

To his surprise, tears filled her eyes and she said, "I can't tell you Matthew. If I told you, you would despise me!" She stood up suddenly. "Do you mind if we go back, I have some errands I need to run."

"All right," Matthew said, resigned to the fact that she did not want to tell him what was going on.

She grasped the handles of his chair and began pushing him back to the house. They were both silent. When they reached the recreation room door, Mary beckoned one of the nurses for Matthew, and then she turned to go.

"Mary," he said. "Wait."

Mary turned to him uncertainly, clearly uncomfortable and with tears back in her eyes.

He looked at her steadily. "I don't know what you are hiding. And I will not continue to press you to tell me. But please know that I never could, and I never would despise you," and his face was full of care and concern. Mary gulped, and turned, walking quickly away.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Saturday afternoon was wet, so in lieu of their walk, Mary and Matthew were reading each other excerpts from the Saturday papers in the recreation room. Matthew had found the jokes page and had her in fits of laughter over one of them. He started to read her another when there was a call from across the room, and Mary looked up to see that Sir Richard was at the door.

"Richard," she called in surprise. "We weren't expecting you until later!" She arose, and said quietly, "Please excuse me, Matthew," and she crossed the room to him smiling.

"I trust you had a pleasant trip," she said. "Would you like to..." she said, intending to ask him to join her and Matthew for tea when he cut across her.

"I would not," he interrupted, and Mary stiffened at his harsh tone.

"Sir Richard," what a lovely surprise!" came a gushing voice from behind them, and Cora swept in.

Clearly nonplussed, Richard took her hand and kissed it and bowed slightly. "A pleasure to see you, Lady Grantham," he said, his harsh tone immediately replaced by a polite one.

"The pleasure is all mine," Cora continued to gush, and for once Mary was relieved. "Mama, would you like to join us for tea in the small library?" she asked, to which Cora immediately assented, and then said "Mary, do get Edith and Sybil to come. I just saw them both upstairs."

"Please excuse me, Richard," Mary said. "I'll be back with my sisters shortly," and she turned and headed down the hallway for the stairs.

The afternoon, with the constant presence of her mother and sisters, passed pleasantly enough, with Richard forced to make polite conversation with her, enquiring, for the first time ever, about her work.

She told him of the recent changes, how she was now back doing the hospital administration a few days a week, but continuing with a reduced nursing role with her shifts split between the convalescent home and the auxiliary hospital in the village.

"I can't see what appeal such a role holds for you," he said shaking his head in disapproval. "All those broken bodies.. hmmph."

Sybil bristled at his tone and said, "Nursing is a most honourable profession. And it is one that Mary has become extremely competent at. She is well liked and respected by the staff and the patients both here and at the hospital!"

Mary felt a warm glow at her younger sister's praise, and it seemed to soften Sir Richard somewhat for he said "Yes, of course. I am sure Mary is most competent at it. It is just a job that I myself would take no joy in."

The warm glow quickly faded at his next comment, however, when he said, "Of course once we have our wedding date settled, which I very much hope will be this weekend, you'll have to be focused on that and finish up with all of this work. Organising that will be more than enough of a job for you."

The sense of unease Mary had felt several months before when she first visited Haxby with Richard came flooding back. It had never occurred to her that Richard might look to forbid her doing the work she had come to find such purpose and satisfaction from. She said nothing, and looked down at her lap. Richard frowned.

Sybil noticed, giving her a sharp look. Edith also picked up that something was amiss, and she glanced furtively from Richard to Mary and back again.

Cora rescued them all, beginning to ask Sir Richard some questions about his life in London, and how things were being affected by the war. For the second time that afternoon, Mary felt uncharacteristically relieved by her mother's gushing.

Anna was doing Mary's hair before dinner, when Sybil came into the room, and sat down, carefully arranging the skirts of her evening gown about her.

"Mary," she said directly. "What is going on? I see you about to embark on a marriage with a man who clearly does not make you happy. Why is this?"

Anna paused, halfway through her crimping. "M'Lady," she whispered. "Do you need a moment..?"

Mary shook her head imperceptibly. "No, Anna, you know all my secrets. Please just stay," she murmured back.

"Sybil, darling," she said. "Mama and Papa are keen to see me with a position. If I marry Sir Richard, I will be making them very happy," she said tightly.

"But what about you, Mary?" Sybil asked incredulously. "What about your happiness? Are you telling me you do actually love him?"

"What is love, anyway?" Mary said avoiding answering her directly. Her mouth was set in a thin line. "Perhaps affection is enough for people like us."

"I don't understand, Mary," Sybil said shaking her head. "Sir Richard, well, he seems so controlling, and you don't seem yourself around him. Mary, I worry for you in a marriage to him!"

"Sybil," Mary said slowly. "There is something you should know. I am not a woman of virtue. I did something in my past that means I am not in a position to turn down a proposal to a man as fine as Sir Richard."

Sybil gasped. "How can a man who you cannot be yourself around possibly be 'fine' Mary? she said in disbelief. "And what do you mean you are not a woman of virtue! The Mary I see every day is a kind, hardworking and dedicated person, certainly someone I consider to be of virtue!"

"Sybil," Mary said, tightly. "Thank you for your belief in me. I appreciate it, really I do! But this is a reality I must face, and I have little choice but to go through with it."

"No," said Sybil, and she began to speak forcefully. "Whatever your secret, whatever it is, it is not worth it to throw your life away on a man who will not care for you properly! Mary, please! Turn him down while you can!" she urged.

"I cannot," Mary said tightly. She turned back to the mirror, her face impassive again. "Besides. Mama believes he will give me a good position. He is very rich. He has influence, and I will not want for anything." Mary lifted her chin up with a defiant look.

Sybil glanced at Anna, who shrugged her shoulders ever so slightly and then shook her head. Sybil frowned at Mary, and then she stood, wordlessly, and left the room. She was dissatisfied with Mary's answer and determined to get to the bottom of it.

Dinner passed without incident. Robert suggested to Sir Richard that they go directly through with the ladies to the small library, as there were only the two of them, Matthew having eaten earlier with the officers in the mess hall.

At nine o'clock, Robert and Cora excused themselves, and asked Edith and Sybil to come with them, Cora making it clear by the look she gave them both, that Sir Richard needed some time alone with Mary. Sybil dawdled a bit, and Mary could tell she was not comfortable leaving her behind with him.

Mary raised her eyes at her and flicked them towards the door, lifting the corners of her mouth to show her that she would be all right. Sybil rolled her eyes ever so slightly, clearly not convinced, but she bade them good night and left the room.

Outside she said, "I'm just going to check on some of the patients," and left the others at the stairs, going instead to the officer's recreation room. To her relief, both Matthew and Edward were still up, talking quietly with three other officers.

"Sybil," Matthew greeted her. "What brings you here at this hour?" He said smiling and enjoying the pretty figure she cut in her turquoise blue evening gown.

She went over to him and pulled up a chair. "I am uneasy about Mary," she began in a low tone. Matthew and Edward looked at each other, and back to Sybil. "She is in the small library with Sir Richard Carlisle. Do you, well, do you think you could go in there in a few minutes and just check she is all right?"

"Are you worried he's going to hurt her?" Matthew looked at her in shock but kept his voice quiet.

"I, I don't know. It was just some things he said to her this afternoon. And the way he said them. It didn't feel right." She looked down at her lap and smoothed her skirt nervously.

Edward grinned suddenly. Keeping his tone low, he said, "Hey, Crawley, I must admit, I do like a bit of cloak and dagger. How about we make up a ruse of looking for some books, and do what's Sybil's asking? If nothing else it might remind the chap there's a few of us down here who know where Mary is."

Matthew's lips twitched, but he quickly became serious again, sensing just how deep Sybil's unease really was.

"All right. That sounds like a plan. Sybil, we'll check on her shortly, all right? Would you like to join us for cards in the meantime, or do you need to go to bed?" Matthew asked.

"Cards sounds fun, but unfortunately I'm on morning shift," she sighed. She stood and gave them both a smile, "Thank you for doing this!" and she left the room.

Ten minutes later, Edward wheeled Matthew silently towards the small library, both of them smirking slightly, and feeling like schoolboys. Their sense of fun evaporated when they reached the great hall and heard raised voices. Then there was a shriek. Edward broke into a run. He flung open the door of the library without knocking, and wheeled Matthew in, saying, "And you thought you left it in here did you?"

"Yes it should have been on the.." Matthew invented, and then he stopped, feigning surprise at seeing Mary, who was half turned away from him over the fireplace, and Carlisle, who was on his feet and breathing hard and clearly taken aback at the two men entering the room unannounced.

"Good evening, Sir Richard, Mary," said Matthew formally. I.."

"I'm sorry," said Edward, cutting across Matthew and feigning a smile. "Are we interrupting something? Matthew thinks he may have left my copy of Tolstoy's _War and Peace_ in here, and we were just retrieving it."

"Actually, I think I know where it might have been left," Mary said unexpectedly, joining in the ruse.

"Richard, if you don't mind, I'll just help these gentlemen find it. She busied herself looking through the low shelves under the window, and Matthew realised in silent amusement that she literally knew where a real copy of the book was, and she would help them follow it through.

"Richard," he said. "While Mary finds the book, may I introduce Lieutenant Edward Donovan. Eddie, this is Sir Richard Carlisle, my cousin's fiancé."

Edward bowed his head and held out his hand. Richard shook it, and then looked at him twice, giving an involuntary shudder as he realised that Edward was missing half of his other arm.

"So you are in this convalescent home here, along with Crawley?" he enquired.

"Yes," replied Edward, keeping his voice cool and even. There was an awkward silence, and then Sir Richard seemed to realise he needed to fill it.

"So what do they have you do all day?" he asked in an attempt at conversation.

"Physical therapy. The occasional talk from a speaker on some sort of rehabilitation topic. And there's also a bit of entertainment, which Mary's sister Edith kindly organises for the patients," Edward replied.

"I see. Quite the family business isn't it, all of them nursing," Richard mused.

"It is certainly very well run, and the officers leaving seem well ready to return either to the Front or to civilian life. Which is more than can be said for a lot of other similar homes," Edward replied.

"And what is your line of business, Sir Richard?" Edward asked, suddenly aware that Mary had found the copy of War and Peace, and that it might be a good idea to continue to delay their exit from the room.

"I'm in newspapers," he said with a smile. "I own quite a bit of Fleet Street. I…"

Mary spoke suddenly "Found it!" And she handed the book to Matthew saying, "It had somehow ended up on the floor."

"Thank you, Mary," Matthew said formally. She was behaving a little oddly despite joining them in the ruse. She was keeping the side of her face averted.

_I wonder if he hit her?_ he thought angrily. Whatever had happened, Mary didn't want a scene. And he realised it was far safer for all of them if they continued along in the civil fashion that they were.

"Richard, do go on," Matthew said intently. "Eddie's father is a major shareholder in Longman's Publishing. Your newspaper connections will be of interest to him."

Richard was disarmed by Matthew's attentiveness, and looking properly at him for the first time he was genuinely shocked at his appearance. He was a mere shadow of his former robust self, extremely pale and every movement he made took an obvious effort. Mary had been telling the truth after all; her cousin had clearly spent months at death's door.

"Ahem, yes, well getting back to where we were, _The Daily Mirror_ and _The News of the World_ are among the papers I have interests in, plus a range of other more specialised broadsheets," he said with barely concealed pride.

"We've been enjoying a very profitable run these last few years. War's been good for business!"

Edward continued to question Richard, and a while later Mary said suddenly, "Richard, Matthew, Lieutenant Donovan, I might bid you all goodnight," and she stood to leave.

"What shift are you on tomorrow, Mary?" Matthew asked innocently. "Morning," she answered, her voice surprisingly firm. "And night duty on Monday back at the hospital." A look passed between her and Richard at her answer, and it was obvious Richard was not pleased.

"I'll see you then. And thank you for finding my book," Matthew answered, pretending not to notice. He turned back to Eddie and Richard, hoping his guise of formality with Mary would keep Carlisle with them, and allow Mary to escape upstairs.

Eddie picked up on what Matthew was trying to do, and immediately asked Richard another question, sensing he was about to stand up and follow Mary. It seemed to work. Richard settled back in his seat and said "Good night, Mary," in a gruff tone, and he turned back to Edward.

Mary sidled out, again keeping that same side of her face hidden, and Matthew heard her running upstairs, as Edward continued to engage Carlisle in a discussion on the impact of the war on the newspaper business.


	11. Chapter 11

Mary summonsed Anna unexpectedly early the next morning.

"Good morning m'Lady," Anna said. "You have morning shift today," she said conversationally, assuming that was the reason for her dressing bell being rung so early on a Sunday.

Mary did not answer directly. She was seated on the stool in front of her dressing table mirror.

"Anna," she said coolly, "How can I cover this up?"

Anna gasped. Mary's left cheek was badly bruised and she had also sustained a small cut. Her left eye was beginning to blacken.

"What happened?" she said in horror, a strong suspicion beginning to form in her mind. The memory of the pale, withdrawn Mary who had returned from the visit to Haxby a few months prior came flooding back.

Mary took a deep breath. "You and I know will know what happened. Anna, I had a fight with Sir Richard. But the family will know that I tripped and fell and hit the side of my dresser. Is that clear?" Her voice was firm and resolute and her expression belied none of the fear and upset she felt inside.

_Mary has her cool, calm face on,_ Anna thought. _This is her way of surviving. But what does this mean for the pending marriage? Surely she cannot marry him now!_

Anna wanted to ask her what the fight was about – had she called things off? The staff downstairs had already noticed that she had become less fond of Sir Richard in recent months, and the popular talk was that she was going through with the marriage out of a sense of obligation to Lord and Lady Grantham. Also suspected, but only alluded to among a very few loyal to Mary, was that a spark remained between her and Matthew.

Anna looked at her. The cool, calm look was still on her face. _Best be business-like this morning, and not ask any questions,_ Anna thought.

"I think we can do something with a little powder. And I know you don't like rouge, but I could put on just a little and I believe it might help. But first lets make sure it's very clean, all right?" she said gently.

Being careful not to press too hard, Anna gently sponged the cut on her face, and then patted it dry with a soft towel.

She applied some salve, and then she went about applying the powder and rouge as judiciously as possible.

"There, how is that?" she asked.

Mary surveyed her appearance in the mirror. From a distance, it wasn't too noticeable, but up close the swelling was still apparent, and the bruising around her eye couldn't be hidden.

She sighed. "Well, I guess this will have to do."

She turned to Anna then, and the cool, calm expression had gone. "Will they believe me?" she said uncertainly. "Can I pull this off?"

"I'm sure you can m'Lady… but, m'Lady, if he has hurt you, wouldn't you want to tell them? Lord Grantham would not be pleased!" Anna said worriedly.

"Oh, Anna," Mary said and she stood and began to pace. "I have to face this. Alone. I cannot break things off with Sir Richard. He will release my scandal and ruin my family! It is not me I worry about now, it is Sybil and Edith and what it would mean for them. And how could I ever face Papa?"

"Vera Bates is responsible for this, isn't she?" Anna said, and her mouth set in a thin line. She was shocked at what Mary had just revealed.

"It's not completely her fault, well it didn't start with Vera, there were others," said Mary. She stopped pacing and looked at Anna, anguish on her face.

"If it is anyone's fault, it is entirely mine. I, never, ever should have flirted with Mr Pamuk when we went horse riding! I have only myself to blame for this whole sorry mess."

"Mr Pamuk came to your room without your bidding, and forced himself on you, m'Lady," Anna said firmly. "This is not your fault!"

Mary gave a huge sigh and wrung her hands. "Society does not see it that way. If this got out, society would see only a ruined woman who has shamed her family." She paused and shut her eyes momentarily.

"And for now, I just need to get on and face the day as best I can." She walked to her stool in front of the mirror and sat down, smoothing her skirts. She looked up, set her chin and said evenly, "Anna, could you please do my hair."

A short while later, Mary made herself go to the front door to farewell Sir Richard, whose train was due to depart at 8.00am.

"I trust you slept well," she said formally, as they walked to the front door.

"As well as can be expected away from one's own bed," he answered. "Please thank Lord and Lady Grantham for their hospitality. And regarding our conversation last night, whilst I remain disapproving of you continuing with this nursing, I can see that you are needed here if the state of those two excuses for men who joined us after dinner is anything to go by," he said stiffly.

"So I am prepared to allow you to continue with your work until we move to Haxby. I will be back from India in five weeks and expect a firm date to be set and agreed with your parents for the wedding by then."

Mary nodded, her face impassive. He kissed her hand and then turned to the car and climbed in. Branson shut the door and loaded his bag into the trunk. Sir Richard gave her a brief wave as the car departed.

Mary turned and walked slowly back into the house. She felt numb, the full horror of the situation in which she found herself too much to consider all at once. At the great hall, she paused, not sure what she was supposed to be doing.

_You're on duty this morning, silly,_ she told herself, and with a little shake, she headed to the ward, even though it was twenty minutes before she was due to start.

Half-way up the hall, she saw the door to Matthew's bedroom open, and Nurse Ellison came out. "Nurse Crawley," she said, closing the door quietly behind her. "You're early! I must say, I'm quite pleased. Captain Crawley has had a rough night."

"What happened?" she asked.

"I thought he was just having a nightmare but he didn't come out of it. A bad flashback I think. I gave him a mild sedative and a shower and he's calmer now, but he's still not himself. I have another patient overdue for medication. Could you take over so I can sort that out?"

"Of course," Mary answered.

"Good morning, Matthew," she said, walking into his room. "Thank you for last night." He did not respond, so she sat down next to him and said "Matthew, look at me. It's Mary." While he managed to look at her this time, it was clear he was still not himself. _Hmm,_ she thought. _Perhaps breakfast will help. The routine of it, like any other day._ She took him to the dining room and at the sideboard, she asked what he would like. When, again, he didn't answer, she set about plating up eggs and bacon, with toast and marmalade on the side, knowing that they were usually the dishes he would choose.

At the table, she set the plate in front of him and fetched herself a meal. He still hadn't touched his when she sat down, so she looked across at him and said gently. "Matthew, you need to eat." She put the fork and knife in each of his hands and said "Watch me, all right? And you do that too." He looked at her and finally seemed to register with what she had said. She picked up her own knife and fork and began to eat. And slowly, Matthew began to do the same.

The food did what she had hoped, and by the time Mary brought him a second cup of tea, he was back to almost back to himself.

They made small talk for a while and then Matthew gave a start and said, "Why aren't you breakfasting with Richard?" looking around as if he expected to see him.

"He left on the early train. He sails to India tomorrow," she answered coolly.

"Oh," Matthew said, suddenly confused. "I thought he was here until tonight."

"That had been the plan, but some last minute business matter had come up meaning he had to leave earlier," she answered evenly.

"Last night…" he started to ask, as he came even more fully back to the present.

"Matthew, let's leave last night for a moment. I just want to know how you are right now, Nurse Ellison said you had a flashback?"

Matthew nodded and his eyes darkened. "I don't know what triggered it because it started when I was asleep," he said.

"Was it something you've had before?" Mary asked delicately.

"Yes. It was… I don't know if I can say it, Mary, it's just too terrible. Someone I knew. They… died in a horrible way. I, I saw it," he shuddered. "It keeps coming back and it's like I'm right there," he looked away from her, tugging absentmindedly on his table napkin.

"Is the talking therapy helping?" she questioned.

"Maybe." He turned back to her and shrugged his shoulders. "But it's still happening," he sounded desolate.

"Keep at it, Matthew. You have been in the war, and around the horror of it almost four years. It's too much to expect to recover from that straight away," she said earnestly.

"Perhaps you are right," he looked down at the table. "But it's very hard all the same. Sometimes I don't know what is worse. Not walking, or having these horrible turns."

Mary gazed at him, her eyes full of compassion. "The war has dealt you a pretty tough hand," she said. She was quiet for a few moments, studying him.

"It humbles me how well you deal with it all," she remarked eventually. "So much pain, and then these terrible flashbacks."

"Am I really dealing with it well?" Matthew looked at her disbelieving.

"Well, I think so. God, if I imagine myself in your shoes I think I'd be the most ungrateful, grumpy and sourfaced patient you could ever imagine, and yet you, for the most part, are unfailingly polite, uncomplaining and dignified!"

She smiled at him, and he shrugged and attempted a smile in return. Tiredness was overtaking him again and he stifled a yawn.

"I'll take you back to your room so you can rest," Mary said quickly. "Have you had enough to eat?"

Matthew nodded and folded his napkin up, placing it on the table. Mary swallowed the last of her tea, and then she stood up and took Matthew back to his room.

Nurse Ellison was just finishing remaking the bed when they entered.

"Captain Crawley," she said kindly. "I'm glad to see you're back to yourself. How was the breakfast this morning?"

"Very nice, thank you," Matthew said courteously, trying not to think about the hell he must have put the older nurse through when in the throes of his unpleasant flashback. "I hope you get a chance to have some yourself before you leave!" he forced himself to add.

"I intend to, very soon, she said with a smile. "And then I'll be looking forward to some sleep! Do you want to lie down?" she asked noticing how pale he was.

Matthew nodded, so she and Mary lifted him out of the chair onto the bed. He had become so thin, it was now an easy job, although it always left Mary disconcerted. She couldn't wait for him to get his strength back – a lingering fear of him getting ill whilst in such a weakened state haunted her. She worried how vulnerable he would be if he contracted the terrible Spanish flu, which was being talked about in the newspapers. It had been devastating overseas, and it was now showing up in some of the returning troops and hitting many of them very hard.

Nurse Ellison's voice snapped her out of her reverie, and she made herself focus on the handover notes the nurse thrust into her hand. After Nurse Ellison left, Mary bustled about refreshing the water in the jug and tidying this and that, until Matthew said quietly, "Mary. Please stop."

Mary turned to him. "What is it Matthew? Should I leave you to sleep?"

"No. Not at all. I'm feeling better now I'm lying down," he paused. "I wanted to ask you how you are," he said. "Is that all right?" his tone was solicitous, gentle.

"I don't want to trouble you with my worries, Matthew," Mary said firmly. "You're dealing with so much yourself!"

"I appreciate your concern, Mary," Matthew said after a moment. "But, you know, I think that if I have someone else to think about it might actually help me. To get my mind off the flashbacks." He gazed at her intently. "If you do want to talk then I really think you'd be doing both yourself, and me, a favour."

"Oh," Mary said, initially surprised. And then she remembered how, for herself, having Matthew to focus on, ill as he was, after that horrible trip to Haxby with Richard, had really helped her to get through the following weeks. Perhaps it could be the same for him.

Matthew patted the side of his bed. "Sit here a moment, Mary." Obediently she sat down and looked at him.

"What did he do to your face?" he said, taking her hand.

"He… he..."

"Hit you," Matthew said bluntly. "With his fist."

Mary nodded, and she began to shake, her composure rapidly disappearing.

"What else did he do?" Matthew asked, knowing instinctively there was something else.

To his surprise, Mary stood, and she slowly and gingerly took off first her apron, and then her blouse, not caring about Matthew seeing her only in her corset. There was an ugly bruise, in the perfect shape of a handprint across her upper arm.

Matthew hissed and swallowed, and then he set his jaw. Wordlessly, he handed her back her blouse, and once she had buttoned it, he reached up and helped her pull the apron back over her head.

"Why have you not broken your engagement with him?" The same blunt tone.

I, I…" Mary was at a loss at what to say. She knew she had to find a way to tell Matthew, but her irrational fear that he would despise her remained.

"Mary," Matthew said more gently. "I don't know what you are hiding. But it seems to me that Richard is using whatever it is to blackmail you into marrying him. That is no basis for a marriage, and if he has beaten you now, before you are even betrothed, then God help you when you are in a marriage to him! No matter what you might have done, you do NOT deserve to be treated that way, ever, by any man!"

Mary looked at him and gulped. Matthew was right. It was blackmail. And he had beaten her. It was time. She had to tell him… had to trust.

She took a deep breath and began.

"Do you remember, a long time ago, a Turkish gentleman, Kamal Pamuk, who visited Downton?"

Matthew paused. "How could I possibly forget? He died here!"

"Yes, he did die." she paused and looked away. Then she gave a gulp and looked back at him. "He, he… died in my bed."

Matthew stared. "Go on," he said, his mind starting to race.

It all came tumbling out. Her infatuation during the horse ride. Her shock at his unexpected kiss outside the drawing room. Him coming to her room late that night, her with no idea how he knew which was her room. His threat, saying should she scream, that she was already ruined. Her decision to let him have his way. Him dying… on top of her just when… and at that, she began to sob uncontrollably.

"I can't get his face out of my mind, Matthew!" she said anguished. She felt his hands on her shoulders then, gently pulling her back against him.

"Shhh" he said gently, "It's all right Mary," and he stroked her hair. In his mind, the situation was very clear. Mary had been taken advantage of by a young man with no scruples. In her innocence (and he clearly remembered the vain, yet naïve young woman he had known back then) she had got herself into a very difficult situation, which was then made far worse by the fact that the young man in question had literally died in her bed.

"What did you do?" he asked when her sobbing had quietened.

"Anna and Mama helped me to move him back to his room."

"Cora?" Matthew said in amazement.

"Yes. Mama was very good about it. Although that is why she is so keen to see me with Richard. To get me a good position in case it ever comes public. It wouldn't have the same impact for a married woman."

"How did Richard learn of all this?" Matthew asked suddenly.

Mary took a huge, shuddering breath. Then she unexpectedly sat up. "Matthew, are you all right? I completely forgot about your chest, have I hurt you?" She said anxiously.

Matthew smiled. He'd always found her ability to switch from concern about herself to others so instantaneously quite disarming.

"Mary," he chided her gently "I love how you are always so concerned for others! I'm actually quite comfortable, I've had very little rib pain the last few weeks, and the physical therapy is helping with the rest. But even if I was in pain I'd happily put up with it, as right now you're the one whose needs are more important!"

Mary looked at him, humbled, again, at his calmness and understanding in hearing the whole sorry tale.

"There is quite a bit to tell," she said sadly. "Should I fetch some tea before I start? And ohh," she checked the watch pinned to her apron, "I need to do the medication round."

Matthew nodded. "Let's take a break so you can do all of that. Come back with the tea afterwards."

After she had completed the necessary medical tasks and checked in with her other patients, Mary fetched a tray of tea and scones for them both from the dining room and returned to Matthew's room.

Once they were settled with their cups, she began again. It was a long and complex tale. The unknown servant who had told Edith what had occurred, and repeated the story outside of the house. Edith's betrayal. The letter to Lord Grantham that was hidden from him by Cora. That Papa still didn't know. The invitations that stopped coming that very next Season. The shock at discovering Vera Bates somehow had obtained information about the scandal, and that she was prepared to release it if Bates did not stop his attempt to divorce her. Mary's decision to entrust Richard with her secret, so that he could contract with Vera and then force her not to release it.

She stopped, exhausted from the effort of recalling it all, and emotional from the turmoil that it rekindled in her.

Matthew took her hand and slowly stroked it.

"A very sorry mess. And all caused by the actions of a detestable young man with no scruples."

"But it was all my fault," Mary said sadly. "I should never have flirted with him!"

"Mary," Matthew said firmly. "Look at me. You were not to blame. You did not invite him to your room. You asked him to go and told him you would scream. The only mistake you made, if it was a mistake at all, was in believing him when he said you would be ruined if you screamed, simply by a man being found in your room! Please don't blame yourself!"

They were both silent for a few minutes, and then Matthew said slowly. "I do have some more questions.

"What happened with Richard, that time you went to Haxby? What did he say to make you so upset?"

Mary told him how she tried to break off the engagement with him, saying she had realised they had so very little in common, and how Richard had grabbed her arm and told her he had the power to destroy her, and that he would use it if she broke things off.

"Good God," said Matthew, deeply shocked.

"And… what about last night? Why did he hit you?" he asked very gently.

Mary paused. She wasn't quite sure how to put it, given the answer involved Matthew himself. _Oh, what the hell,_ she swore to herself. She was in too deep now, with all she had shared with him. She took a deep breath and continued.

"He accused me of flirting with you when he saw us reading the papers together in the recreation room," she said sadly. "And then he said he was going to forbid me to nurse you, or indeed, nurse anyone. I told him that what he wanted was unreasonable and that I would not stop nursing. And that's when… he hit me."

"I wish Eddie and I had been quicker!" Matthew burst out.

"Ohh, that's right. You came in and asked about that book," she said looking at him in surprise.

"And you seemed to cotton on to our game, because you went and found it!" Matthew answered.

"You know, I almost did that unconsciously. I think I was so shocked by him hitting me... and then so relieved that you were both suddenly there," Mary's voice trailed off.

"Thank you," she said, and she swallowed. "You... you weren't too late... he was raising his arm to strike me again when you came in!"

"The bastard," Matthew muttered under his breath.

She looked at him frowning suddenly. "How did you know I was there?"

"My time to do some confessing," he said. "Sybil came to see us just before, saying she was worried about you. She didn't like the way Carlisle had been talking. She asked us to check on you, so… well Eddie and I decided we'd pay a visit. We made up a ruse, which we hoped might avoid him getting suspicious.

"And it worked," Mary remarked, the corners of her lips twitching.

"I only wish we'd been able to confront him," Matthew said grimly.

"It would have been the wrong thing to do. He'd probably be publishing today! And I have a horrible feeling he would have taken a swing at you too," she said and gave an involuntary shudder at the thought. "I think what you did do was far better... if nothing else, he's gone away none the wiser."

A look of hopelessness came over her face. "I wish there was something I could do to get out of this! And even if I knew what to do, I don't know if there is time. He wants a firm date fixed for our wedding when he is back from India in five weeks. And he has made it clear that when we marry I am not to continue any of my work – not the nursing, and not the administration," Mary said sadly.

"Maybe I just have to go through with this," she said, almost to herself. "And be strong. Just imagine what it would mean for Papa if word got out! And Sybil and Edith would never find good positions!"

"No!" Matthew said firmly. "There will be something we can do to allow you to call off the engagement and stop him publishing your story. I just know it. Men like Carlisle... they always have secrets they don't want exposed. We just need to find those and use those to bargain with, in exchange for him keeping his mouth shut!"

"I wouldn't even know where to start," Mary said, her hopeless tone continuing. "And who could possibly help me?"

"I can, Mary," Matthew said unexpectedly. "I'm a lawyer for god's sake. This is the sort of thing I know exactly how to do!"

Mary stared at him in surprise. "But how, when?" She countered, looking at him with a mixture of joy at hearing him reclaiming his own profession and saying he could help, and disbelief because he really, really wasn't that well yet and how on earth could he possibly do the work when he was so weak and tired so easily?

"There has to be a way," Matthew raged, almost to himself. "I need to go to my former firm. Mary would you come with me to the office? We could get Charles started on the case, and from there we could work up a plan."

"Matthew," she said tremulously. "You can do this? You will do this for me? You really will?"

"Why on earth would I not, Mary! It's something I can help with! I have got the skills and I know others who can help. He is blackmailing you into a marriage you do not want. It is outrageous, and you must be free of him."

She smiled at him then, her eyes brimming with tears, and feeling, for the first time in months, a little bubble of hope. Maybe, just maybe she could be free of Sir Richard, without the horror of her scandal tainting the lives of her family forever.

She looked at Matthew and noticed he seemed far away for a moment.

"What is it Matthew?" she asked a little timidly. She still had little real sense from him what he thought of her, following this long-winded confession.

"When you turned me down, all those years ago Mary… was it because of what happened with Mr Pamuk?" he asked delicately.

She nodded. "I wanted to tell you. But I didn't know how. I didn't want to say 'yes' to you unless you knew. And I dithered around so much… and then you…" her voice trailed off.

"And I thought it was because you didn't love me," Matthew said, his tone unreadable.

"It, it was the opposite, Matthew... you were, you are such a good, honourable man. I could not imagine marrying you unless I had told you first… and been fully honest with you... Oh, I wish to God I had at the time! But I didn't," she said with a shake of her head.

She looked at him hesitantly, trying to read what he was thinking. His blue eyes lifted to hers and he said slowly "I'm really glad this is all out in the open Mary," and he smiled.

"You… you have forgiven me then?" Mary countered, keeping her eyes on his.

Matthew smiled again. "No. I haven't forgiven you. You don't need my forgiveness! You are not to blame for all this Mary! What matters is making sure you have a happy future. For now, let's just focus on getting Carlisle out of the picture, shall we?"

He held his arms out. "Let me give you a hug. You look like you need it." And Mary fell into his arms and began to cry with relief.


	12. Chapter 12

When her shift ended, Mary went gratefully upstairs to her room. She rang the bell for Anna, who organised a hot bath, and then she changed into fresh clothes. After Anna went, she sat down at her dressing table, idly tidying her jewellery box and trying on different pieces, enjoying the sun that was coming in through the windows.

She felt almost giddy with relief after her talk with Matthew. The sense of foreboding she had carried for weeks now, worrying over her situation with Richard, had dissipated. She felt lighter, despite the constant ache of her arm and her face from the blows she'd sustained only the night before.

Her pleasant reverie was shattered by a sharp knock at the door. Sybil swept in, with Cora close behind. Sybil's mouth was set in a thin line. The looks on both their faces dismayed her. _Oh dear, this can't be good,_ she thought.

"Mary," Sybil said, coming straight out with it. "This just has to stop! You didn't fall against your dressing table, did you? That awful bruise on your face was Richard!"

"Sybil, " she said heatedly. "I am doing something to make it stop! Just this morning I…," and then Cora interrupted her.

"Mary," she commanded. "Let me see your face."

Mutely, Mary sat back up and lifted her face to her mother, who cupped her hand gently under her chin to survey the broken skin and the blackened eye.

"Oh my dear," she said in a hushed tone. She released her hand and stood suddenly, beginning to pace the room.

"This will not do," she said, her tone vexed. And then her face hardened slightly, and she said, "What did you do to provoke him, Mary?"

"Provoke him?" Sybil looked at her mother enraged. "You saw how he was to her at tea Mama! He is a hateful man! Mary would have done nothing at all to provoke him!"

Mary waited until Sybil had stopped her tirade, and then she spoke in a low voice.

"He told me he was forbidding me to nurse Matthew, or indeed anyone, Mama," Mary said her voice almost inaudible. "I told him he was being unreasonable and that I wouldn't stop. That's when he... he..." she shuddered.

"And then Matthew and Eddie came in and stopped him from hitting me again."

Sybil gave a sharp intake of breath, and Cora spluttered "What?" and sank heavily on the edge of Mary's bed. "Start from the beginning please Mary, none of this makes any sense," she said tightly.

So Mary started from when she and Matthew were reading the papers. How Richard had seen her laughing with him at the newspaper jokes and thought it was flirting, and accused her so later.

How Sybil had so very helpfully tipped off Eddie and Matthew after dinner, and how she was very thankful they had come in when they did as he had had his arm raised to hit her again. She was about to begin telling them of her talk to Matthew and their resolve to find a way for Mary to break off the engagement without fear of Richard publishing, when once again, Cora cut across her.

"Are you sure you weren't flirting with Matthew, Mary?" Cora asked, the hardness still in her tone.

Mary was shocked. She could not believe what her mother was asking.

"Mama," she said her face incredulous. "I was laughing at a joke. When Richard called from across the room, I went across and I asked him to come back and join us!" She stared at her mother, her mouth half open. She lifted her arms slightly and then dropped them. "What do you think I am?" she said aghast.

How could her mother doubt her over the interchange over the newspapers? It was one of the more enjoyable things she did with Matthew from time to time in the course of her care for him, but it was not something that could ever be called flirting. And she laughed over the papers with some of the other patients in her care too, and Evelyn in particular.

Had all her hard work and dedication of the past year meant nothing? Did her mother really think she was nothing better than the slut Edith had once accused her of being?

She suddenly felt very tired. How could this be her mother talking? Was her mother implying she must continue with her engagement, despite the knowledge the man to whom she was engaged had hit her so brutally?

It was too much for Sybil.

"Mama. Just when did you decide that it would be acceptable for one of your daughters to ever be hit by a man?" She said in horror. "When did you decide that? If Matthew and Eddie hadn't gone in, he might very well have put her out cold!"

Cora said nothing, her mouth set in a thin line.

Sybil looked at her, disbelief now replacing the horror. She burst into tears. "I cannot believe you are defending a man who beats your daughter. I cannot believe it!" she shouted.

"If your sister had been a little more circumspect in her own behaviour in the past then we wouldn't be in this impossible situation!" Cora snapped back, her voice rising. "I never …." and then she was interrupted by a voice outside of the door.

"Sybil, Mary? What on earth is going on?" The door opened and Robert strode in and stopped suddenly.

Cora's eyes were flashing and she looked angry. Mary was withdrawn, her face pale, and, he looked again a little more closely, she was sporting a large and ugly bruise he was sure had not been on her face the day before. Sybil was crying, her face in her hands.

"Will someone tell me what on earth all this is all about?" he said, feeling his temper rise.

"Mama is trying to blame Mary for Sir Richard punching her in the face yesterday!" Sybil burst out, her face anguished. "She seems to think Mary should stay engaged to a man who beats her!" she said her voice rising hysterically.

Robert froze.

He turned at looked at Mary. "Is… that true?" he said, his voice suddenly hoarse. "Carlisle... did that to you? Mary looked up at him wordlessly, nodding.

"And this," she whispered, and she gingerly removed her long jacket, revealing her bare arms. She turned so he could see the bruise in the form of a handprint across her upper right arm.

Robert gasped. Cora gasped. Sybil let out another anguished wail. The bruise was so severe there were graze marks where the stinging slap had broken the skin.

Robert stood. "You will not marry him," he said grimly. "And I am going to call the police!" and he turned on his heel and began walking forcefully towards the door.

"Papa, stop!" Mary shouted. "Stop! You must not! He will ruin us if you do!"

Robert turned to her in a fury. "That man hit you! He deserves the full force of the law!"

"Papa, just stop!" Mary said, tears beginning to form in her eyes. She brushed them back impatiently.

"Tell him, Mama," Mary said, her voice resigned. "He needs to know before he does anything stupid!"

"Mary!" Cora said warningly.

"And then you must hear my plan!" Mary shouted in frustration. "Matthew and I have a plan that will save me and it will save you!"

"Stupid?" Robert said, looking at Mary as if he had been slapped. "What did you just call me?"

"Oh do stop it, Robert. Stop being so melodramatic," Cora said crossly. "Now come with me. This instant!" She rose and gestured to Robert to follow. "To our room. Immediately."

There was a tone in her voice the girls had not heard their mother use before. They watched in amazement as Robert mutely followed her out of the room, as docile as a lamb.

Mary and Sybil looked at each other for a long moment. Finally, Sybil said, her voice quavering slightly, "Mary, I have an overwhelming urge to swear. Do you mind?"

Mary shook her head. Sybil stood and took a deep breath. "That, that utter bastard!" she spat and stamped her foot for good measure.

Despite everything, including her annoyance at Sybil for bringing Mama into her, without warning her first, Mary couldn't help smiling at the spectacle of rough language coming from her pretty younger sister's mouth.

"I agree," she said, her voice almost normal. "And I wasn't joking. I, well rather Matthew, has come up with a plan so that I can break things off with Richard."

Sybil looked at her for a long moment. "Mary," she said gently. "Tell me everything. Right from the very beginning. Because all this feels like a confusing puzzle where I've only got some of the pieces."

Sybil sat on the edge of Mary's bed and looked across at her sister. "All of it please," she said expectantly. "Don't leave anything out."

Mary told her the lot, although she did leave out Edith's betrayal. She knew Sybil was close to Edith and whilst the Mary of the past might have enjoyed the chance to get back at Edith, the Mary of today saw that to share that particular piece of information was not only unnecessary but would rekindle a hurt that she and Edith had long got past. Besides, she had nothing to be proud of in how she had treated Edith in those days.

"And you told Matthew all of this?" Sybil asked, her eyes wide. "How did he react?"

"Very well, if you must know. He was..." and Mary felt a lump come into her throat, "very kind and he told me not to blame myself," she said her voice shaking a little.

"And he was right of course," Sybil said nodding in agreement.

"And when I said I couldn't see how I couldn't **not** marry Richard, because of how bad it would make things for you and Edith, well that's when he said he would help, and we came up with a plan." She explained to Sybil what his thinking was, and what they would do.

"But can he really do it, Mary?" Sybil's face was troubled. "He's still so early in his recovery!"

Mary looked at her thoughtfully for a moment. "You know, I really think he can. He said immediately about contacting people he knew could help, and he seemed to know exactly where to start. It's more about him directing others rather than doing."

Sybil was reassured by Mary's confidence. It made sense. From what she had seen of Matthew over the years she had known him, was that for the most part he was thoughtful and considered in what he did, _except on matters of love_ she thought with a prickle of amusement. Therefore, Sybil reasoned, he wouldn't make an offer to help if he genuinely didn't think he could.

"But will there be enough time?" she asked. Mary shrugged. "We don't have long. Richard is expecting me to give him a date for our wedding when he returns from India in five weeks. But it's still worth trying at least. That's what Matthew said anyway, and I do believe him, Sybil. I have an instinct that he is right, that Richard will be hiding something he doesn't want others to know!"

"Of course he will be," Sybil said scowling. "Hateful man!"

She looked across at Mary, a smile replacing the scowl. "And thank God for Matthew!"

There was a knock at the door.

"Mary?" said Robert. "May I come in?"

"Yes Papa," Mary answered, and she looked at Sybil suddenly a little worried. What was her father going to say?

Robert came in a serious look on his face.

"Sybil, may I speak to Mary alone please."

"Of course, Papa." Sybil stood and smoothed her dress with her hands. She gave Mary a quick look and a furtive smile and left.

Robert sat on the edge of Mary's bed and put his hands on his knees.

He looked across at her. Mary looked back, her face impassive.

"Your mother has told me the story of Kamal Pamuk," he began. "If you must know, she chose her moment well. You are not the only Crawley to have made a mistake. I am telling you that to reassure you so that you are clear I have no intention of, nor interest in asking you to explain yourself in respect of that incident which was many years ago now.

"What is of more concern to me, is that your mother said that Carlisle knows about it, following some affair involving Vera Bates.

"Am I correct that this is why you have not already broken off your engagement with Sir Richard?"

Mary nodded. "Until now, that is," she began, starting to tell him what she and Matthew were planning. "This morning I…" but once again she was interrupted.

"How long has he been behaving like this toward you, Mary?" Robert asked, his tone becoming angry again.

"Papa will you just listen to me!" Mary snapped. "You are as bad as Mama at interrupting!"

Robert looked at her, taken aback by her tone. "Very well," he said making a conscious effort to speak more calmly. "I'm listening."

Mary breathed a sigh of relief. "Matthew knows everything, Papa," she said. "He is going to help me get out of the engagement without Richard publishing my scandal."

"Matthew knows? And he will help?" Robert's face registered both surprise and then pleasure. "Tell me how he intends this to work," he said.

"Matthew is of the view that Richard will have done something he wishes to hide, and that if we can find that out, we can play Richard at his own game and keep him silent when I end my engagement with him," Mary said.

"And Matthew is going to do the finding out? Oh, of course, he is a lawyer after all," Robert mused almost to himself. "He's probably helped clients in the same way before!" Mary nodded. "That's what he told me," she said.

Robert paused and then he frowned. "But is Matthew well enough to do this?"

"Yes. Well more to the point, he will organise the finding out. He has contacts he will use," Mary went on, "and with the way Richard has acted towards me in recent months, I strongly suspect that we will find something."

"After what he has done to you I too have no doubt of that," Robert said grimly. "Is there anything that I can do to help?" he asked.

Mary looked at him for a moment and then she said seriously, "The best way that you can help is for you and Mama go on as though nothing has changed, and say nothing to anyone of what we are trying to do.

"Someone in our very own household betrayed me to Vera. We cannot afford to have anyone know what we are trying to do now. Can you please make sure Mama understands? Especially regarding that horrid O'Brien," she said with a shudder.

Robert started at her words. "Do you have reason to suspect O'Brien?" he frowned.

"Not exactly. But she has always made her dislike of me plain. In this situation, I think it best not to take any risks," Mary explained.

"How long will this investigation take?" asked Robert.

"Richard is expecting me to have fixed our wedding date when he returns from India in five weeks. Instead, I hope to be able to put a deal to him at that time to end our engagement without him going public."

"And if nothing can be found? What then?" Robert enquired.

Mary sighed. "I will not marry him, Papa. I will just have to put on a brave face and bear the scandal."

"Of course you will not marry him," Robert said grimly. "And please know that your mother and I will stand by you whatever comes."

"Oh, Papa!" Mary said. His gesture of support was so unexpected she was suddenly overcome.

"Mama as well?" she said after a moment. "She was not well disposed to my point of view when she was here before! In fact, I felt she was very much wanting me to continue with my engagement to Richard!"

A strange look crossed Robert's face and he looked away briefly.

"If you must know, Mary, your mother and I have been having some… problems. I suspect your mother's reaction to you earlier was more about what is happening between us than about you. I'd ask that you not think badly of your mother, no matter how ill-advised her words may have been."

"Oh," Mary said, both surprised and concerned. "Will you be all right Papa?"

"Yes my dear, I think we will be. A marriage as long as ours must weather many storms." Robert stood and smiled at her.

"I must go. I am meeting with Murray shortly to review one of our investments. Matthew's convinced me these past weeks to rethink how we apportion the funds." He bade her good afternoon and he left the room.


	13. Chapter 13

Matthew slept for most of the rest of the day, waking only for dinner, which one of the nurses brought to him on a tray to his room.

He awoke early the next morning, feeling unusually refreshed, and a clear resolve forming in his mind. There were just five weeks until Carlisle would be back in the country. They would have to act fast.

After breakfast, he asked the duty nurse to take him to the desk in the recreation room, and he took out a notebook and pen and began to write.

His notes, a little cryptic, as was his style, listed

_Charles – appointment_

_Barrow_

_Donovan – publishing?_

_Mary – Robert_

_Carlisle - staff?_

_Financials, tax, liaisons?_

He decided to start with Charles, his former boss at Harvell and Carter in Ripon. The Secretary he spoke with on the telephone advised that the soonest he was available for an appointment was Wednesday, in two days time. Yes, that was suitable.

He ticked that one off the list.

As the nurse wheeled him back from the telephone in the hall, he asked if she would find Sergeant Barrow for him, and about ten minutes later, Barrow appeared in the recreation room.

"Everything all right, Captain Crawley?" he enquired.

"Yes, perfectly all right thank you, Sergeant. This is a, a more personal matter. I wondered if you and I could speak privately?"

Barrow looked at him closely, but couldn't read the expression on Matthew's face. "Would you like to go out on the Terrace Sir? It's not windy this morning."

"Yes, let's do that," Matthew agreed. Sergeant Barrow fetched a blanket for Matthew and tucked it around his legs, and they went out of the French windows to a quiet, sunny corner a good distance from the other officers already outside enjoying the sunshine. Sergeant Barrow located a patio chair, positioned it opposite Matthew, and sat down. He looked across at Matthew inquiringly.

Matthew got straight to the point. "Sergeant, that time at the front, when you said you had been part of an affair that had harmed Downton Abbey that you now deeply regretted, well, was that something to do with Kamal Pamuk?"

Sergeant Barrow shifted uncomfortably and looked away. Then he looked back at Matthew and saw nothing but understanding in his eyes.

"I am not wishing to pass judgement Sergeant," Matthew said quietly. "I'm trying to understand a story, as some things are happening now that are way out of proportion to what initially took place… and I want to see them brought to an end."

"Is this about Lady Mary, I mean Nurse Crawley, Sir?" Sergeant Barrow ventured.

"Yes. I don't want to divulge too much, out of respect for her," Matthew paused for a moment, wondering how to put it. "Just to say she is being forced into a marriage with a man who will beat her... and in fact, who has already!"

"What?" Sergeant Barrow was stunned. Then he recalled Mary's face from the previous day... something about falling against furniture. He flinched, remembering times in his own past when he had been similarly beaten by someone he thought he could trust.

"Ohh. Yesterday.. her eye.."

"Things happening, way out of proportion..." Matthew's voice trailed off.

Barrow thought for a minute. He had a lot of respect for Captain Crawley. The man had been unfailingly kind to him at the front. He knew that the Captain knew the truth about his hand injury, a hidden 'blighty' and yet he had never once cast aspersions. In fact, it had been quite the opposite. He'd even ventured to share with him some of his own demons. His respect for Captain Crawley had continued to grow in the months he had been back at Downton, as he had seen how he had acquitted himself in coming to terms with such a devastating injury.

And Lady Mary, well she was a changed person. Her professionalism and dedication had risen to the fore this past year, and she, too, treated him courteously in all the many dealings he had with her between the hospital and the convalescent home. Whilst she remained a stickler for tradition and formality, the vain and haughty young woman of the past was well gone and he had slowly gained a grudging admiration for her.

_Time to 'fess, Thomas,_ he told himself. _The Captain is one you can trust. And Lady Mary doesn't deserve being slapped around._

"It's not a pretty story, Sir," he began. "I am ashamed of it, I've no qualms in telling you that."

He began at the start, not blanching from sharing how Kamal had led him on, then pushed him away and threatened him with a complaint to the police if he did not show him Lady Mary's bedroom. He stopped and looked at Matthew, who merely raised his eyebrows, and so he continued.

He told how Miss O'Brien had discovered that Daisy had seen something, and managed to make Daisy tell the story to Edith. How Miss O'Brien had then sent letters to the servants in the other houses. About the letters, she had sent to Vera Bates.

"I understand that you and O'Brien are no longer on speaking terms," Matthew said at one point.

"No," said Sergeant Barrow, "One thing I have learned from this war is things aren't black and white. Yet she still persists in seeing them that way."

After he had finished the tale, Sergeant Barrow was silent a moment. Then he said. "If there is anything I could do to make up for this, I'd do it you know," he said resolutely.

Matthew looked at him. "Sergeant, do you really mean that?" Thomas nodded.

"Good then, because as a matter of fact, there is."

Swearing Thomas to complete secrecy, he told him how he wished to find something against Carlisle that could be used to allow Mary to break off her engagement to him without him publishing. Did Thomas know someone with connections to Carlisle's staff? Someone who Carlisle might have wronged, who didn't have a strong sense of loyalty to the man, and who could help them locate any useful papers?

Thomas smirked. "From what I've seen of that arrogant bastard, I'm sure there will be someone there with a grudge! I have a friend who works in one of the manors nearby. I'll start with him."

"Thank you, Sergeant," Matthew smiled at Thomas's strong language. "And please be discreet."

"No problems there, Sir. Discretion is second nature if one is to survive being the type of man I am." To Matthew's surprise, the corners of his mouth twitched. Humour wasn't something he normally associated with Sergeant Barrow. Matthew grinned back. That sat in silence a few minutes, and then Sergeant Barrow stood and took the handles of Matthew's chair.

"Let's get you back inside Sir, the wind is getting up, and you can't afford a chill."

In his head, Matthew ticked Barrow off the list.

Over lunch, he beckoned Edward to sit next to him.

"Thought I'd better update you on the aftermath of our escapade in the library with Mary and Carlisle," he said by way of greeting.

"Yes, and I heard you had a bit of turn yesterday. Are you all right?" Edward asked him, concerned.

"I'm fine now," Matthew sighed, the grimness of the flashback coming back into his mind. "I managed to get some reasonable sleep afterwards, which helped. He paused for a minute. "But I find it so disconcerting how it just happens."

"I'll say," Edward looked down and fiddled with the edge of the table cloth. He, too, suffered the occasional turn, and around them, they were each aware of several men who were suffering from shellshock to a far worse degree than either of them. Men who would take days or even weeks to come out of an episode, and some poor souls who never seemed to come out of it at all.

"This may or may not help, but I'll tell you it anyway," Edward went on. "I read something the other day that was saying war neurosis is four times higher among officers than among the regular soldiers. And it's usually the officers that have done their jobs in the army really well."

Matthew rolled his eyes. "Funny way of rewarding your best officers! Turn a great lot of them into broken men!"

"That's war for you," Edward said grimly. "Having gone through what we have if there was ever a next time I think I'd rather sit the four years out in jail with the conscientious objectors than going back to the hell that was the Western Front!"

They were both quiet for a while and focused on their meals. Edward was struggling to cut up his meat with his one functioning hand, and Matthew automatically leant across and cut it up for him.

"Thanks," Edward muttered. He looked across at Matthew. "Tell me. Getting back to what we were supposed to be talking about. We didn't get to Mary in time, did we? When I saw her face yesterday. That excuse about falling against her dresser..."

"We didn't, and we did," Matthew countered. "He was about to take another swing at her when we went in."

"Bastard!" Edward spat.

"Yep, and we could add in a few more expletives once I tell you the rest!" Matthew agreed.

Without revealing the exact nature of the scandal to his friend, he outlined how Mary was being blackmailed into the marriage against her will, and would Eddie be able to help him with some research, using his publishing connections to see if there was anything in Carlisle's present or past they could use to stop him.

"You know, I think there could be," Edward mused. "The way he was talking to me the other night... a couple of the things he said when he was bragging about his papers successes. I wonder… I just got a feeling he might be walking a fine line with the Defence of the Realm Act."

"What?" said Matthew, incredulous.

"Just an instinct." He grinned at Matthew suddenly. "This will be fun! Give us something to focus on!"

"Glad you see it that way," Matthew said grimly. "Because it's cousin Mary we're talking about, I can't say I see it exactly as fun, more about desperation to get her out of this awful situation she's in."

"Of course, sorry for making light of it old chap."

Matthew grinned. "Don't be sorry. You can still see it as fun, especially if it gives you the extra push you need to dig a bit deeper!" He removed his notebook and pen from his jacket pocket and said, "Right, let's start a list of what we need to do."

They spent the next hour talking and planning, and at the end of it, both of them were feeling quite energised and purposeful. There were a series of telephone calls to be made, some statutes to research, and Edward would include in his efforts, a trip to the publishing firm his family had interests in, in London, if he could manage to get Major Clarkson to agree.

_We're going to get you, Carlisle, _Matthew told himself triumphantly. _We're going to find you out!_


	14. Chapter 14

Major Clarkson was not pleased when he heard of Matthew's plan to visit his former law practice in Ripon on Wednesday morning.

"This is very unusual Captain Crawley," he said disapprovingly. "And it is not in the interests of your health. I have reluctantly allowed you some very short car trips, but going all the way to Ripon this early in your recovery is quite another matter!"

"Major Clarkson," Matthew countered. "Something... personal has come up. It is important that I am able to speak to Charles in person."

"And why could he not come here?" Major Clarkson enquired. Matthew said nothing for a minute, and then answered quietly "It is a matter for which I need as much discretion as possible."

Major Clarkson raised his eyebrows but nodded.

"Very well. I want your back strapped for the journey, and I insist that Sister Crawley travels with you, in addition to Nurse Crawley," he said, looking at Sybil and using her new title: she had been promoted to senior nurse a few days prior. "If you experience any pain in the car, please abandon your trip and return here straight away. I would hate to see you re-injure yourself at this point. And make sure that Chauffeur drives carefully!"

Sybil's lips twitched at this, and Matthew realised in amusement that she was looking forward to giving Branson a talking to on that point. He had started to notice that they were quite friendly with each other.

Later that afternoon, in a quiet corner of the recreation room, Mary asked Matthew in a low voice what else they needed to do to prepare.

"Not much, at this stage anyway," Matthew told her. "But you will have to answer all the questions he asks – truthfully – even if some of that is difficult for you. Although at this stage I think that all he'll be wanting is your knowledge of Carlisle's associates and business connections. In any case, you can be assured of his full discretion however, he would never breach client confidentiality."

On Wednesday morning, Mary dressed in a smart blue wool suit, fussing over her appearance more than normally, and having Anna re-do her hair twice. She felt very nervous, and her nervousness only increased when Branson handed her into the car, alongside Matthew and Sybil.

Major Clarkson had been right. The longer trip in the car was not easy for Matthew. And he hadn't realised how self-conscious he would feel in the wheelchair when they got to Ripon. He felt himself going red with embarrassment when Sybil and Branson lifted his chair up the front steps of the Harvell and Carter office, and he had an overwhelming urge to ask them to take him home again.

_Pull yourself together Matthew,_ he told himself firmly. _This is about Mary, not you._ He made himself think of Mary's bruised face. The self-talk worked, and he felt his focus return. He thanked Sybil and Branson with as much dignity as he could muster, and asked that they return at 11.00am: the appointment was to be an hour long.

Mary wheeled him into the reception area, and the young woman he had spoken with on the telephone said cheerfully when she recognised his uniform stripes, "Ah, Captain Crawley I take it? And Lady Mary Crawley? Please wait here and I'll let Mr Carter know you have arrived."

Mary perched on a chair in the waiting area beside Matthew and looked around with interest. She had never visited Matthew's workplace when he had been here before the war.

The room was quite masculine, with dark panelling up to the wainscot, and wallpaper above. The carpet was a dark green, and the reception desk was highly polished walnut. There was a small table with a vase of fresh flowers in the waiting area which gave the space a welcoming feel, and the windows behind the reception desk looked out to the alley, bathed in sun, at the side of the building.

"Where was your office?" she asked Matthew. "I was upstairs," he said, motioning to a set of glass doors, beyond which she could see a carved wooden staircase.

"Matthew!" how good to see you again my boy!"

A jolly-faced middle-aged gentleman with greying hair, thinning in the middle, walked briskly across the reception area towards them.

"Charles, it has been far too long!" replied Matthew, holding out his hand. "And may I present my cousin Lady Mary Crawley."

Mr Carter studied Mary's face. "A pleasure to meet you, Lady Mary. I can see the Crawley likeness," he said amiably. "Your grandmother, Dowager Countess Violet Crawley is a former client of our firm," he said by way of explanation.

He motioned them through to his office, and once they were inside and he had seated himself behind his desk, he looked across at Matthew with a smile and immediately said, "You're here to ask for your old job back Matthew?"

"Well, I…" Matthew was so taken aback he had to pause for a minute and take a breath.

"What about Roger?" he asked suddenly, thinking of his former colleague who had just been promoted to senior associate when war broke out.

"Ah Roger," Mr Carter's eyes clouded for a moment. "He was killed at Marne, a few months after you were injured. "I'm sorry I hadn't let you know. At the time we had word that you yourself were not likely to survive," he said, his voice lowering.

"Killed at Marne?" Matthew was stunned. So many of them. What a waste. There would be no young lawyers left in Britain by the time the war was through!

"I'm so very sorry to hear that," he said quietly. "Roger was a great mentor to me." Roger had been out of law school a few years ahead of him. "And a lot of fun in the office! I hadn't known he'd joined the army."

"Yes," Charles said, his jolly face clouding again. "He joined up late as his mother was too ill for him to leave her alone for the first few years of the war. He enlisted after she died.

"We were really hoping to get you both back. It has been rather dull here without the youthful enthusiasm you both brought, and very hard since we learned of the loss of Roger," he said sadly. "And we had seen both of you as more than capable of taking on the partnership in a few years." He paused a moment and then went on.

"Harold and I are hoping to be able to retire. We are very keen to train up and replace ourselves well before that time.

"If you could join us, and perhaps help us to find some other young blood to replace Roger, we'd be very pleased indeed," he said looking across expectantly at Matthew.

"You, you are offering me my job back, on the understanding I train up with a view to taking on a partnership?" Matthew couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Of course! I mean, I can see that right now you won't be fit for much work, but that will change in the months to come if I am correct in assuming you are now recovering. In fact, if you are up to even just a few hours a week, we'd be pleased to take you on right now, such is our workload and the shortage of skilled lawyers out there."

Matthew was silent for a moment, not quite sure how he should respond especially with his health and how much he might recover still so uncertain. To buy some time, he decided to ask a little more about the work. "Tell me a bit more about the cases you're taking on, Charles, so I can get a better sense of the type of work the firm is doing these days."

Charles began explaining the work: some industrial, with a number of factories having established nearby off the back of the war effort; an increasing estate workload, as the impact of the 1909 Finance Act began to be felt; and bread and butter work in conveyance and contracting. They were predicting that their industrial law work would continue to grow with the continuing rise of trade union influence.

Matthew asked him a whole series of further questions, and Mary listened in increasing amazement. This was Matthew, the solicitor talking; a side of him she had never really seen. And Matthew, the career professional with an eye to the future, checking things out. His questions were careful, considered, and, she could see, were enabling him to build a very clear picture of what a potential role back in the law firm would entail, and where there might be potential for growth and specialisation in the future. He was clearly not going to rush back into this, just because he had had the offer.

"So my good chap. Where does that leave us?" Charles asked finally.

"I am very interested Charles. I'd like to think on it some more, and I'll obviously want to see what you will offer by way of an employment agreement. There are also some other realities about my situation you need to know before you put a proposal to me.

"While I am recovering, I've been told I'm not going to walk again. So if that is a concern to you, then let us stop things right here.

Charles's face fell, but his look was one of compassion, not pity. "No concern at all in terms of your work, Matthew," he said with a serious tone. "My father, who started this firm, was crippled in the Crimean war. Lost part of his leg. You'll have no nonsense from anyone associated with this firm, nor our longstanding clients on that front," he said resolutely. "And," he added, "We'll sort the office out for you of course, along with the entrance, so it's easy for you to move around."

He looked at Matthew again, shaking his head slightly. "I imagine it's not an easy thing for you to bear, in one so young! All credit to you for having the gumption to get on with your life regardless. I'm seeing far too many men who have suffered in this war just giving up, many of whom are facing far lesser challenges than you," he said shaking his head with a frown.

"Thank you for making all of that clear Charles," Matthew said gratefully. "I appreciate it." He was quiet a moment, trying to remember what else he needed to cover, and then he said, "There are two other considerations I have: the first is when I would start.

"While I'd be keen to start with a little work, I do need you to understand it will be quite a while before I can come back fully. I'm only now just starting to regain my strength."

"We'd be happy to come to some sort of retainer arrangement for the first few months if that would work for you," Charles countered. We've got quite a few small cases, contracts and such like, that we could send through to you to work on from your home. We'd also be happy to see you spend some of that time reading to catch up on the law changes of the past four years."

"That could work, I hadn't thought of that type of arrangement," Matthew replied suddenly feeling quite humbled by what Charles appeared to be willing to invest in getting him to return. Working from Downton was something he could probably manage.

They shook hands, and Charles arranged with Matthew to post out an employment agreement for him to consider within the week.

Mary stole a glance at Matthew and gave him a wide smile. She had listened to the unfolding conversation with great interest. She was intrigued by the lively character that Charles Carter was, and she was impressed with how easily and naturally Matthew had slipped back into talking about the law and the upcoming opportunities for the practice. _This has to be a very good thing,_ she thought.

But now it was time to turn to the more urgent matter of dealing with Carlisle.

Matthew took a deep breath. "Charles, that brings me to the second consideration that might influence when I start: the reason why I made this appointment with you today."

Charles looked at him expectantly, and Matthew cleared his throat and said, "We," he motioned himself and Mary, "need some urgent help."

"Start from the beginning," Charles said, taking out a notebook and pen and pulling his chair up to the desk. So Matthew did, with Mary adding in relevant pieces of the puzzle as they went along.

They went over time, and it was a quarter past eleven before they emerged to find Sybil and Branson nursing cups of tea and chatting amiably with the young receptionist.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," Matthew said to them both, as they greeted them and got to their feet. Sybil thanked the receptionist for the tea, and they left the office.

When they were all in the car, Sybil asked, "How did it go? Are you going to be able to do something to stop Carlisle?"

"We hope so," Mary mused. "Mr Carter has contacts he's going to use to find out about Carlisle's business interests, and he and Matthew have split the list of associates of Carlisle's that I am aware of, to follow up with. They'll both work on it, given how little time we have."

"How will you do that Matthew?" Sybil asked. "Well, most of it starts with telephoning people," he explained. "And some letter writing. If it requires visits, Charles will handle that, given that's not easy for me at the moment."

He went on. "My main task will be coordinating what we do and doing the legal research to back up whatever wrongdoing we are able to find. And Eddie is going to help me with that bit as well."

"I'd forgotten Eddie was a lawyer!" Mary said in surprise. "Yes, and as well as that he's got contacts in publishing through his family that will be useful to us too," Matthew replied.

"That's going to keep you both quite busy I imagine!" Sybil said.

"It certainly will. But because we are working to such a tight deadline, it will help us keep focused, and only act on really promising leads. Sometimes these sorts of investigations can go all over the place, but we don't have the luxury of time in this situation," Matthew explained.

"And Matthew, you must tell Sybil your other news!" Mary said smiling suddenly.

"Ohh?" asked Sybil inquiringly.

"Charles is going to make me an offer. It's a little like my old job back, with a bit more. He wants to train me up to replace him as a partner in the next couple of years," Matthew said, his voice unable to hide his enthusiasm.

"And are you going to take it?" she asked

"Well, I'm going to give it serious consideration, if that's what you mean! But I do want to take the time to consider it properly as if I do take it on it will be very demanding, and therefore it has to be what I really want longer term."

Matthew saw Branson glance back at him in the mirror, admiration on his face. He flashed him a brief grin.

"I'm really pleased for you, Matthew!" Sybil said and squeezed his hand. "But," and she paused "if you do end up saying yes, you won't take it all on right away will you?" she said worriedly. "Especially not with what you will be doing on the Carlisle front!"

"Of course not, **Sister** Crawley," Matthew said teasingly, using her new title. "We talked about me just starting on some small bits of work. Only as much as I can handle, and things I can do from Downton Abbey."

"Well, that's a relief… as your physical therapist and **Sister** Crawley, she emphasised back, I have to insist on first things first," she said raising her eyebrows at him. "Like rebuilding your strength!"

"I certainly need to do that," Matthew said shifting uncomfortably in the seat. "I just wish there was a way it could all happen quicker."

"I think every patient says that," Sybil said absent-mindedly, still focused on the very real prospect Matthew might become a partner in a law firm. "The people in your firm seem very nice," she said. "The receptionist made us very welcome whilst we waited for you."

"They are very nice," added Mary. "I enjoyed the chance to meet Charles, and he was very understanding about my situation. He comes across as a man that inspires confidence, and I like to see that."

"It's why I greatly enjoyed working there before the war," replied Matthew. "Both the partners have good reputations and get a lot of work from outside of Ripon. It's quite unusual to have a firm of that size in such a small town, and it's their good reputations that have made it possible. And I always enjoyed the variety in the work."

Matthew was lying on his front the next afternoon, trying to settle his back and shoulders that had been aching badly since the car trip the day before, when Sergeant Barrow knocked at the door. "Come in," he called.

"Captain Crawley, how are you?" he enquired.

"Better for lying down. Major Clarkson was right that a longer car trip wasn't a good idea," he said grimly.

Sergeant Barrow grinned. "He's usually right on things like this. Unfortunately! But I hear from Sister Crawley it was a very successful visit... and you've been offered your old post back?"

"Yes! That's the one reason I'm not scowling and grumpy today with this shocking backache," Matthew turned his head to look at him, managing a half smile through slightly gritted teeth.

"Well, I've got news that will give you another reason not to scowl," Sergeant Barrow said.

He pulled the chair up close beside him and lowered his voice. "That chap I told you of, who works in a residence near to Carlisle's, my former schoolmate Sid. Well, it turns out his girl is on Carlisle's staff. And Carlisle is not a savoury character. There have been… liaisons you might say. She's in line to be the next hit, and she knows it. She doesn't want it, and in fact, she's trying to secure a new position before he gets back from India."

"What is her position on his staff?" Matthew asked.

"His personal secretary. She's got the keys to his files. The whole damn lot."

Sergeant Barrow started to grin, and then Matthew was grinning and all of a sudden they were both laughing.

"This is brilliant, Sergeant!" Matthew said. "Can you do me a favour, given I can't get off this bed anytime soon. Make a call now to Charles and let him know the details so he can organise to visit her as soon as he can get to London. Pass me my notebook and I'll find you his details for the operator."

Matthew found him the details, and Sergeant Barrow scribbled them down and stood to go. "Thank you so for this Sergeant! Let's hope it starts to bear fruit… and for more than just Mary's sake by the sounds!" Matthew said with a grin. Barrow gave a brief nod and a smile and left.


	15. Chapter 15

After a busy few days following up contacts with information on Sir Richard Carlisle, Matthew was pleased to receive an invitation to afternoon tea at his mother's house with Violet and Edith on Thursday afternoon. It would be nice to relax and talk of other things.

He felt quite nostalgic in his mother's comfortable sitting room, with its pale blue walls and the chintz armchairs beneath the sunny window. Molesley was in his element, pouring tea for them all, and when he could, asking Matthew questions about his recovery, and what was happening up at the big house.

Watching him operate, Matthew was glad that he had insisted Molesley remain and take on the role of Butler for his mother. As he was under the care of the nursing team at the convalescent home, and would be for some time yet, he had no need of a Valet.

Besides, the role of Butler suited Molesley somewhat better: he was good at organising and letter writing, and he had been able to help Isobel with the myriad of secretarial tasks and errands that seemed to be part and parcel of the charity work she was somehow still managing to fit in around her hospital shifts.

Just as they were enjoying a second cup of tea, Mrs Bird knocked at the door, and asked for Isobel. The others could hear them talking outside the door, and it was clear that Mrs Bird was worried about something.

"What was that about?" Matthew asked when his mother returned and sat down. Isobel sighed and looked around at them all.

"Mrs Bird has just informed me that today, for the third week in a row, they have seen record numbers coming for the hot lunch she provides for the returned soldiers," Isobel shook her head worriedly. "You would have thought the numbers would be dropping off by now, but they are not. She even told me they've had several families this week and last!"

"Families?" Violet sniffed. "Isn't it time Mrs Bird cooked something a little less tasty? And started charging for the privilege?"

Isobel ignored Violet's jibe, and continued. "Mrs Bird said that the families showing up have lost their men at the war. They are struggling to get by on the war widow's pension. All of them have children involved."

"The widow's pension starts at around 14 shillings," Edith mused, "with a little more if there are children. Yet a man can expect at least 80 shillings for work as a farm hand, and as we all know, that's only just enough to live on!

"It's high time it got easier for widowed women to be able to work," she went on. "It's so unfair. It's not their fault they have lost their men to the war. On the one hand the Government pays a pitiful pension, and on the other, society makes it difficult for them to work and provide for their families! Women cannot win!"

"And then there's the soldiers themselves," added Isobel. "The pension for injured men, whilst a lot more than for the widows, is still insufficient to live on. No more than 40 shillings for a badly impaired Private."

"Are they local soldiers?" Matthew asked suddenly.

Isobel nodded. "Very much so. I believe a majority of them served with the North Riding Volunteers," she went on. "Most of those showing up are nursing injuries or shellshock."

"Have you talked to Robert about this at all?" he asked his mother.

"No, as a matter of fact, I haven't," she said looking at him. "Why would I? It has been Cora who has actively supported the effort with the lunches."

"Hmm," said Matthew. "Robert is the ceremonial head of the North Riding Volunteers," he said almost to himself.

"If you think you can convince your cousin Robert to take an active interest in the welfare of these men, Matthew, then I regret to inform you that are mistaken," said Violet heavily.

"What do you mean? Why wouldn't Robert? He is a soldier like them!" Matthew said, looking at her.

"My son Robert takes seriously the role of a gentleman," Violet said. "I doubt he'd know where to start to assist in any practical way, even if he felt obligated he had such a role!"

"Oh," said Matthew. He wasn't sure Violet was right about Robert. _We'll see about that,_ he thought to himself.

"What are you thinking, Matthew?" asked Isobel looking at him intently.

"I'm not sure yet Mother," Matthew shook his head. "But I would like to find out more about what's going on. And just who these men are. So the lunch is every Thursday is it?"

Isobel nodded. "Mrs Patmore and Daisy come early to help Mrs Bird with the food."

"Did you hear that Mama has finally managed to source extra ration coupons for the dry goods?" Edith said. "No, I hadn't heard," Isobel answered. "That would have been music to Mrs Bird's ears!"

"Yes, it was. Mama finally managed to convince the officials. In the end, she kept a formal record of the numbers turning up every week for a month. Annoying as the delay was, at least the tactic worked," Edith said with a sigh.

They continued to talk, and Matthew asked Edith when she had last heard from Anthony.

"His last letter was a few weeks ago," she answered. "He's tired and looking forward to his next leave, which thankfully is less than a month away now.

"But he did report that the men are more positive about how things are looking, not that he could say much in any detail, of course." She sighed. "I know the war is likely to be over soon, but until he's safely home I will not be able to relax! I'm just pleased I have the work to distract me. Without that, I think I would go mad with worry."

"You are doing a wonderful job, Edith," Matthew said smiling at her. "The men speak very highly of you, you know."

Edith blushed prettily, and Matthew thought not for the first time how much the opportunity to contribute and be of service to others had made such a difference to all three of the Crawley sisters. They had blossomed, each in their own way, and for Edith in particular, it showed in her manner, which was a lot more open and friendly as a result.

_It is almost criminal,_ Matthew thought, t_his nonsense of young aristocratic women who, whilst reasonably educated, were expected, how did Mary describe it – to spend their time in the waiting room before marriage with nothing, save dress fittings and social calls to fill up their days? What a waste._

"How are your wedding plans going my dear?" asked Violet.

Edith looked across at her, surprised. "Oh Granny, aside from fixing the date, very little is planned! When Anthony is on leave next we hope to work out what we both want, and that will give me a chance to make a start. Until we've settled the guest list it will be hard for me to be able to answer Mama's questions on the details. She smiled. "I never would have thought I'd be the first of all my sisters to marry!"

"And they are both very pleased for you, Edith," Matthew said kindly. "Anthony is a good man, and all of us can see you will be very happy together."

Violet was opening and shutting her mouth, and Isobel and Matthew shot each other an amused glance: they both had the feeling that she had been about to make a slightly less kind remark to Edith about her being the first of her sisters to marry before Matthew had so deftly stolen the opportunity from her.

0-0-0-0-0-0

The following Thursday afternoon, Mary was just finishing her shift at the convalescent home, and talking with Edith about one of the patients who was requesting help with some letter writing, when Cora came in looking worried.

"Edith, there is a telephone call for you," she said tightly. "What is it, Mama?" she asked, immediately concerned at the look on her face.

"It's the War Office, my dear," she said. "You are listed as next of kin to Sir Anthony?"

Edith nodded, then gulped and ran from the room to the hall.

Mary looked at her mother and said, "I'm finished here. Let us go to Edith." They both went and stood to wait for Edith to finish the call.

After she had hung up the receiver, she turned to them, her normally rosy cheeks white.

"He has been injured. Damage to an arm, and they think some damage to his lungs. Gas," she said and gave a sob. "They hope to have him at the hospital in a few days." Cora said "Oh my dear," and Mary wordlessly took Edith's hand and squeezed it, a most uncharacteristic gesture that saw Edith give a small smile of thanks.

In Mary's eyes, Sir Anthony was a trifle dull and overly obsessed with farming, but she had come to like the care and respect he showed to her sister. Indeed, his kind treatment of Edith threw her own experience with the bullying Carlisle into sharp relief. She had to admit to herself she had been very pleased when they had become engaged: it had done wonders for Edith's self-confidence, and their relationship as sisters had been all the better for it.

Now she prayed for his safe return, and that the injuries he had sustained weren't as dire as those that had faced Matthew all those months ago: Sir Anthony with his advanced age would be unlikely to survive injuries that severe.

The morning of Sir Anthony's arrival at the hospital was harrowing. Edith was amazing: cool and calm and focused on assisting Mary and Sister Thomsen in attending to his wounds. She didn't blanch at the ugly mess the machine gun bullets had made of his shoulder. But Mary could tell what was really going on for Edith. The slight shake of her hands; how she frequently paused just to take a few deep breaths.

Walking with Matthew to the lake that afternoon, everything felt sharper and more vivid. The warmth of the late summer sun prickling her arms. The hot, sweet smell of the grass, slightly browned now from the dry weather they had had of late. Matthew's hair shining like gold in the sun. Oh God, how she loved his thick, silky hair. That he was even here with her, very much alive.

They stopped at the lake, and she sat down on the bench next to his chair, and they both looked out across the water, marvelling at its millpond stillness on this glorious afternoon. Eventually, Matthew remarked, "You are very quiet today Mary."

"Anthony arrived at the hospital this morning," she replied solemnly.

"How is he?" Matthew asked.

"It's hard to tell at this stage," she said. "His arm doesn't look good, to be honest, but it will be a while before it will be clear how much it can be repaired. His breathing is rough, but again how bad is lungs are overall is hard to tell. The x-rays didn't show much. He's fairly lucid which is a good sign, however."

"I'm pleased to hear that," Matthew said grimly. "Poor Edith! This will be such a huge worry for her!"

"I'll say," Mary shuddered. She felt tears pricking her eyes. It had been all too close. Too much like a day a little more than five months ago. To have watched Edith and how she was… it all came flooding back, and she began to shake.

"Are you all right?" Matthew asked her tenderly. She could feel a lump forming in her throat at his words and she couldn't speak. She lifted her eyes to him. He was staring at her intently, with such a gentle expression on his face that she couldn't stop the tears. He reached across and took one of her hands and clasped it between both of his.

"What is it?" he asked. The warmth of his touch was greatly comforting. She didn't want to tell him. But she couldn't help it. Not in this place that was so special to them both with the lake so perfectly reflecting the lustrous colour of the beech trees just starting to turn and the blue of the sky above.

"It is like when you first came home," she whispered. "I was so very worried… so was your mother… and today watching Edith it was like watching myself," she gave a sob.

Matthew squeezed her hand. He was silent. He looked away from her, across the lake, and despite her tears, her body tingled as she surveyed his oh so perfect profile. The arch of his eyebrows. The long eyelashes. The high cheekbones. The exquisite shape of his lips. How could a man have lips like that? _My God, he is beautiful_ she thought. Rare. Lots of men were handsome. Very few were beautiful.

"I don't know what to say, Mary," he said, at last, his words jolting her back to their conversation. "Putting you through all this! I've no doubt it aged Mother, and I hate to think of it being hard for you too."

"It's not about that," Mary said, dismayed that he seemed to be taking her words to mean he had burdened her. "It's about… realising just how much you matter to me," she tried again. _Is this futile?_ She wondered. _Am I wasting my time even trying to explain I have these feelings? Will he just not hear?_

He turned to her then, a questioning look in his eyes. He was about to ask her something when they were interrupted by a shout from behind them.

"Mary, I wondered where you'd got to!" Sybil walked quickly towards them. "Oh Hello, Matthew. I wanted to find out how Edith was, and what happened with Anthony this morning," she said worriedly.

Matthew gave Mary's hand another brief squeeze, the questioning look still there. He lifted his eyebrows ever so slightly as if to say _please can we continue this_ and released her hand.

_Maybe it's not all lost_, Mary thought, pleased at least that he had acknowledged there was more to be said. She took a deep breath, wiped her eyes, and then they both looked at Sybil as she sat down on the bench beside them.


	16. Chapter 16

It was a damp, grey afternoon, and Charles Carter had his collar turned up against the creeping cold as he trudged towards the modest tea shop a stone's throw from Charing Cross station. He hoped he would recognise the young woman.

Stepping through the doorway into the warmth, he removed his coat, and rubbed his face with his hands. Glancing around, he noticed five of the tables were occupied, three with couples, and one with a group of young women, which judging from their attire, were maids enjoying tea together on an afternoon break.

Towards the back of the room, a young woman sat alone, looking nervous. She looked up, directly at him, and he raised his hat to her, and walked quickly across.

"Miss Burton is it?" He asked politely. "Yes Sir, Miss Mary Burton. And you are Mr Carter?"

"I am indeed. Mr Charles Carter. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me Miss Burton."

She resumed her seat, and sat clasping and unclasping her hands, and glancing about as if she was worried they would be seen. A waiter came across to them to take their order.

"Miss Burton, what may I get you?" Charles asked.

"Tea with lemon, thank you."

"Of course. And I'll get us some sandwiches too."

Charles gave their order to the waiter and then pulled in his seat, and looked across at the young woman opposite.

"Miss Burton, …"

"Mr Carter, I'm scared. What if Sir Richard finds out!"

Charles leant back in his chair. He rested his hands on his lap pressing the tops of his fingers together in a steeple shape.

He was quiet for a moment and then he looked across at the slender, mousy haired young woman and asked, "Miss Burton. What is it that you want?" He held her in a steady gaze. "Let us get that matter sorted before we go any further."

She wanted a new position. Personal secretary. In a part of London that would mean she would not easily be able to run into Sir Richard.

She wanted to make sure that any help she gave could not be traced back to her, and did Mr Carter know how that might be organised? Sir Richard was a sneak and a bully, and she wouldn't put it past him to force the other staff to cast suspicion about.

She had found out within a few weeks of taking the position that the previous secretary had left under a cloud. _A strange thing,_ she had mused, wondering what had happened. Then one day, a young kitchen maid on the staff that she didn't even know had arrived unexpectedly at her office door one afternoon when Sir Richard was out. All of a sudden she was spilling out a tale about seeing the former secretary at the church in her parent's village in Surrey. She had had a perambulator in which a young baby was lying asleep. _"She recognised me and tried to hide the baby, and then I came right out and I says to her "the bairn looks like the Sir!"_ the maid had said. The maid had then continued, saying _"And she ran out crying. It was him I'll bet, and you need to be careful or you'll end up like her!"_

She gave a shudder. Lowering her voice she said, "Mr Carter, I am very uncomfortable I am in this situation. A friend had warned me about Sir Richard Carlisle before I took the position. I wish I had taken more notice!" Her lower lip trembled slightly. "He seemed terribly nice when he interviewed me, and he pays a lot more than other employers. So I went against my own better judgement," she said sadly.

Charles leant back in his seat and studied her.

"Miss Burton," he said slowly. "You have a need. We have a need. Let's work together on this, very carefully, and I have a strong sense that both of us can achieve what we want. You will need to trust me. Is that something you are prepared to do?"

"Mr Carter. I don't make a habit of trusting people I have only just met. However, I can see that we are both in a position where working together could be to our mutual advantage. I need your help to quickly gain another place in a manner that raises no suspicion, and you need mine to access his files in a manner likewise." She looked at him thoughtfully for a few minutes and then she took a deep breath. "You do seem a good man, Mr Carter, and when I enquired after your firm I heard nothing but good reports. So, yes, Sir, I am prepared to trust you."

At that Charles nodded and cleared his throat. He leant down and opened his briefcase, retrieving a large leather file, which he placed on the table between them. "Very well Miss Burton. Let's begin."

0-0-0-0-0

It was late afternoon. It had been an uncharacteristically busy shift for the convalescent home, which in stark contrast to the hospital, ran at a sedate and measured pace with a lot more time available for each patient. Today, however, there had been a series of men with medical concerns to see to. Mary's last patient had been Evelyn, who had just had his splint temporarily removed. He had developed a skin infection where one of the straps had been poorly fitted. It had taken Mary quite some time to clean and disinfect the wound, and he had been in pain.

"We're there finally," she said looking up at him, the dressing now firmly in place.

"Well that's a relief," he said weakly. "It hurt like hell!"

"It seems to be a sensitive part of your leg," Mary said kindly. "And the break is still mending, which will be making it worse. Would you like a draught to help settle the pain?"

He nodded, and she gathered up the various spare bandages and other accoutrements and took them to the dressing station at the side of the ward.

When she returned with the draught, Evelyn was already half asleep. She helped him sit up and gave it to him to drink, steadying his shaking hand.

"Thanks. You're very good to me Mary!" he said with a tired smile."

"I couldn't be anything else for you, nor any of the others!" Mary answered. "You are going through such a lot. Now do try and sleep for as long as you can. Rest is the best medicine for an infection."

After she had made him comfortable, she checked on a couple of the other patients and left for the recreation room.

Various groups of officers were engaged playing table tennis, reading or playing cards, and there on the far side of the room, she saw Matthew and Edward seated together under the window deep in discussion.

She walked across to them and pulled up a chair.

"Good evening gentlemen, she said smiling. "I thought I'd say a quick hello before I go off duty in a few minutes!"

They both smiled and Edward asked about Evelyn.

"He's in quite a bit of pain, I'm afraid," she said. "But Dr Green is fairly confident we got the infection in time, and with some good rest he should come right in a few days."

"At least we know he's in good hands," Edward said giving Mary a grateful look.

They were silent for a while, thinking about Evelyn, and the trial that his badly broken leg was proving to be, and then Matthew said, "Mary I'm glad you're here. I've just taken a call from Charles with some information about Carlisle."

At that, Edward stood, already aware from Matthew as to what was coming, and that it was news that might upset her. "Matthew, I'll take my leave. I'm being beckoned to cards by a couple of the lads, all right?" he said.

After Edward had gone, Matthew asked "Mary, would you mind taking me to my room? I think what I've got to say is best said in private."

"Of course," Mary answered. When they got to his room, she parked his wheelchair beside the window and took a seat in the armchair opposite. Dusk was falling outside. She clasped her hands and waited expectantly. Matthew was looking down at his lap pursing his lips, as if unsure where to begin.

"Matthew," Mary said cautiously. "You're making me nervous!"

His head snapped up and he looked straight across at her, his blue eyes wide. Despite her anxiety as to what he might be about to tell her, she felt her whole body tingle at his gaze. These past days, in fact, ever since Sir Anthony had been brought back injured from the front and she had watched Edith, she was finding it harder and harder to ignore her true feelings for Matthew.

What was it? She hadn't been able to get Carson's words to her, several years before, out of her mind. _"If you love him, then let him know. Because if you don't and he dies, you will regret it all your life."_

Yes, Matthew was very much alive and continuing to recover, but she had been around soldiers and injuries and illness for too long now to know how tenuous life could be. And she still hadn't told him! What if he got sick again? What if the Spanish flu came to Downton? But when could she tell him? Every time she tried they seemed to get interrupted. And now, tonight with the matter of Richard to discuss, it definitely wasn't the right time. She sighed and shook herself out of her reverie, and waited for Matthew to speak.

"I'm sorry Mary," he said eventually. "It's hard to know quite how to say this." He proceeded to tell her, as gently as he could, how it appeared that Carlisle had had a series of liaisons with female members of his staff and that it appeared that at least two of these liaisons were fairly recent. He explained the circumstances in which the information had been shared: it did appear that this behaviour of Sir Richard's was well known in some circles.

"You mean he has… slept with his servants?" Mary breathed, aghast.

"At this stage, yes, it appears that is the case," Matthew said quietly.

"And what role… these servants?"

"Some were housemaids. Others were his former personal secretaries."

Mary gasped. "They work with him... they may travel with him… oh."

She shuddered. "Have you found anything else? As much as I find it personally distasteful, I somehow doubt infidelity with one's domestic staff will be a sufficient deterrent to publishing when compared with my scandal!"

"We might have. From what Eddie's found out so far, it does appear there is something suspicious regarding Carlisle and one of his employees who has accreditation through the War Office Press Bureau. A rumour is circulating that information has somehow been leaked in contravention of the Defence of the Realm Act, and perhaps some other laws too. Quite what the nature of that information is, and to whom it has been leaked is not yet clear, but more than a few people well placed to know are of the view that something illegal is going on."

"That sounds potentially quite serious!" Mary said aghast. "With what I know of Richard, I would never have thought he would engage in something like that. Perhaps it's just his man and not him?"

"That may well be," Matthew conceded. "That's why we need to do a lot more investigating first. Eddie is travelling to London tomorrow. He finally got the consent of Major Clarkson to do it. Sybil is going to travel with him, that was part of him getting the go ahead.

"He's lined up a couple of meetings with the people who should be able to tell him a bit more. That's what we were talking about earlier."

They were both silent for a moment, wondering what it might be that Edward would find. And then Matthew continued. "Oh, I almost forgot. The other information we're still waiting on relates to his financials."

"What exactly will you be looking for?" Mary asked. He explained that they would be looking for anything unusual in the company ledgers: anomalies in the records of bills, payments, and taxes that might indicate wrongdoing.

A gong sounded, and they both looked at each other suddenly realising the time.

"That's your meal," Mary said. "Was there any other news before I go?"

Matthew shook his head. "Not yet. But I'm pleased with the progress we've made so far. Keep you chin up Mary, I'm sure this is going to pay off for you in the end!"

"I am keeping my chin up," Mary said fervently. "You've no idea how much it means, you helping me like this!" She was genuinely impressed with what they had already managed to find out, and humbled, yet again, that they were doing this for her.

Matthew smiled at her. "I'm just so very pleased we can help you, Mary. Your happiness matters a great deal to me," he said gently. "A very great deal."

If it was possible to be caressed by words alone, then he had done it. She had an overwhelming desire to lean across and kiss him. Instead, she settled for giving him such a warm and loving smile in return that Matthew blushed.

Not able to trust herself any further, she made herself look away, and stood up, feeling a little weak at the knees. "I guess I'd better take you through to dinner," she said reluctantly. "I need to go. Mama and Papa have company tonight. Some old friend of Shrimpies. And I have to get dressed."

0-0-0-0-0-0

It was yet another routine day for the staff engaged in the running of Sir Richard Carlisle's sizeable Chelsea home.

For the third time that morning, Mary Burton distractedly rearranged the files, ink and pens on Sir Richard's large, leather-topped desk. She was frowning. There had to be a way to remove the papers Mr Carter needed to copy without suspicion, but so far it had eluded her.

Sighing, she decided to start on her ordinary work. She began with the mail. She retrieved the large pile of correspondence that arrived in the morning post from the mail tray on the bookshelf by the door and set the stack on the desk. She removed the paper knife from its leather case and began to open the letters, one at a time.

The second letter she unfolded was a request from Sir Richard for a copy of a set of contracts to be sent to him in Bombay, India.

It gave her an idea. She could conceal an extra envelope of files with the ones she would need to send through to Sir Richard, and make it look like a single mail package until she got to the Post Office.

Further down the pile was a letter from Sir Richard's Accountant, advising that some financial files had been mislaid, and could she arrange for replacement copies to be sent through to him with some urgency. She smiled to herself. This was the opportunity to smuggle out a somewhat larger parcel, as she would need to arrange for those papers to be cyclostyled. This would provide a legitimate reason why she might be seen removing a complete folio from his office.

Pleased she now had a way to progress the tasks that Mr Carter needed to be done, she got quickly to work.

At the tea shop the following week, Mr Carter slid a piece of paper across the table towards her. "Here," he said. "The names of three ladies who are each seeking a Personal Secretary. I've made some discreet inquiries, and the pay rates would be similar to, or above what you are receiving from Sir Richard. There is no guarantee with any of them of course. But give it a go. If this doesn't work to secure you a new position, we'll come up with another plan."

"Thank you, Sir!" she said gratefully. The thought of working for a lady managing her own business affairs held a real attraction. Especially in light of her current predicament, with an employee who clearly expected that the role of Secretary carried with it certain other obligations she had no intention of ever fulfilling.

"Returning the files," she asked in a low voice. "We'll need a system. With the exception of the mail, I don't make a habit of walking into Sir Richard's office with anything in my hands."

"Then the mail it shall be. What are the names of some firms who most commonly send him large envelopes?"

Miss Burton rattled off a series of names and addresses. Charles quickly wrote them down. "Thank you," he murmured. "The parcels with the returned files will appear to be from one of these. And we'll post them from within London to avoid the postmark raising any suspicion."

"One further matter, Miss Burton. Have you given any thought to the personal story that might explain why you leave the employ of Sir Richard so early in your time with him?"

She shook her head. "I'm at a loss," she said worriedly.

"What I suggest, he said, keeping his voice low, "is something that would make sense both from Sir Richard's point of view, and also makes sense for the other staff and also your beau. We can't put it past Sir Richard that he will not discover he is at a nearby manor. Do you have an ill relative? A friend about to have a child who needs help?"

She looked at him, her mind working. There was someone. A great aunt... yes, she realised, it could be made to look like a legitimate situation.

"I might have," she said finally.

"Good," he smiled at her. "Take some time over the coming week to think about how it could be made to work. Until next Wednesday Miss Burton," and Charles stood, tipped his hat and farewelled her.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Thursday dawned, and Matthew was finally able to see his way clear to be at Crawley House at a time that coincided with the hot luncheon for the returned soldiers. Mrs Bird was both surprised and pleased when Molesley wheeled him into the warm kitchen. Mrs Crawley had told her Matthew was concerned about the soldiers and wanted to find out more about their situations, but she hadn't expected him to turn up in person and offer to assist.

As she hurried through the final preparations, she explained to Matthew what they did, how many usually turned up, and how it had all started.

"What is it you are trying to do, Captain Crawley?" she eventually asked, as he helped her lay out the last of the serving implements.

"I just wanted a chance to find out who the soldiers are, and how they are getting on. Too many returned servicemen are out of work. I want to understand why that is, and from that, look at what might be done."

She shook her head. "Oh dear, that won't be an easy thing Captain Crawley, I'm telling you now! Some of these young men are in a bad way, and even those who aren't too bad don't seem to know where to start being back from over there." She lowered her voice. "They're like lost souls," and she shook her head again.

The clock on the wall chimed. "We'd better get ready to serve," Mrs Bird said quickly. "The first of them will be here any minute now." She walked across to the stove, lifted the heavy stockpot containing the fragrant beef and vegetable stew and brought it across to the kitchen table.

"What do you want me to do?" Matthew asked.

"How about you slice and serve the bread," she said brusquely, motioning where he should position himself behind the table.

Matthew's lips twitched. He was enjoying the spectacle of Mrs Bird at her officious best. He backed his chair to where she wanted him, and he started on the first loaf. It was very nice bread, he noted. She had made a set of particularly hearty loaves with a variety of grains, and their crusts were glossy and perfectly browned.

_Perhaps Violet was right about Mrs Bird needing to make the meals a little less delicious_, he thought with a flicker of amusement. He was impressed both by bread and the rich, vegetable laden stew. A meal of this quality would be providing a lot of nutrients he was certain the former soldiers wouldn't be getting otherwise.

A few minutes later, the first former soldier ventured in. He was a sallow-faced young man, not more than 18 by the looks, limping with a wooden crutch under his arm. Most of one leg was missing and the trouser leg was pinned up.

"Ahh, Mr Connell," Mrs Bird said giving him a smile. "So how has your week been?"

"Just like the last one, Mrs Bird," he said giving her a wry smile.

"And how's your Mam?" she asked. "Wanting to see me out of the house," he replied, the wry smile dropping ever so slightly.

"Well then," she said. "Best you talk with Captain Crawley here. He's keen to set something up for you lot."

The young man glanced in Matthew's direction then and blushed. Matthew did likewise. Trust Mrs Bird to say something like that and embarrass them both.

When the young man reached him, Matthew muttered "Sorry. It's not quite how she's saying it. But I would be keen to find out how you're getting on all the same. Perhaps when you've finished your meal."

"Sure thing, Captain," he answered automatically and gave Matthew a salute. Matthew saluted back. _Hmm you can take the boy out of the army_, he mused, _but you can't take the army out of the boy._

It was soon quite busy, and for quite some time he was focused solely on slicing and serving the bread, Mrs Bird appearing with yet more loaves every time he thought they might be down to the last. She was clearly very good at this, he noted, because there was exactly a quarter of a loaf left, once every person who had turned up had been provided with a meal.

"Mr Molesley and I will tidy up," she said to him in a low voice. "How about you have a chat to the lads."

Matthew nodded and rolled his chair slowly across to the young man he'd served earlier.

"Captain Crawley," Private Connell saluted him again. A couple of the other men looked up, surprised, clearly not having put a face to his name before.

Matthew was about to say to him there was no need to adhere to Army protocol when he noticed the look in the Private Connell's eye. It was almost pleading. Instinctively he responded in kind. He saluted, and said, "at ease, Private."

"I'm Matthew. Crawley of course," he added. "You?"

"Charlie. Charlie Connell."

"Where were you?" Matthew asked.

"The Somme" he answered grimly. "Machine gun. Lucky I got out at all." He looked at Matthew. "Yourself?"

"Lys. The spring offensive," Matthew answered quietly.

"I heard you almost died," he commented. "Tough for your mother. She's a lot of respect around here you know."

Matthew nodded. "I was lucky. Thankfully for her, I pulled through." Keen to keep the subject away from himself, he asked Private Connell what he had done before the war.

"Farmhand. At Drewes," he sighed. "The Hun have put paid to that. Shame. I liked it, and I was good at it. Was hoping to be able to get my own place and farm it some day." They talked for a bit about his time on the farm, and Matthew asked when he'd last seen the Drewes, which were one of Robert's better tenant farmers, and whether he knew how they were getting on. He had seen them and shared their news. They had started raising pigs as a way of diversifying their income, and the returns were starting to look promising.

"Have you thought what else you might do?" Matthew asked Private Connell a while later.

"Well, me old man was a tailor. I've wondered about that. I learned a bit from him about the trade as a lad."

"Is he still about?" Matthew asked delicately.

Private Connell's face darkened. "He died at Passchendaele. And then I came home from the war a year later without me leg."

"I'm sorry," Matthew said. He felt his heart sink. He knew Private Connell's story was nothing unusual. That was what made it all so hopeless. Thousands of families across the country were facing this.

"Been very tough for me Mam," Private Connell went on, his voice low. "She needs me to work but there's not much about. How can I show up asking for a job looking like this?" There was defeat in his voice.

"It's not about how it looks, Private," Matthew said quietly. "It's about what you can do. And how you show that to a potential employer." He paused a moment and then said, "Tell me a bit more about your father and what he taught you of the trade."

The young man brightened a bit, hearing Matthew's interest, and from their discussion, Matthew started to build a picture of what he could be capable of.

Mrs Bird interrupted them.

"Cup of tea, lads?" she enquired.

"That would be very nice thank you Mrs Bird," Private Connell grinned. "You don't normally offer us tea!"

"Well seeing as Captain Crawley's here, I thought I'd better," she said cheerfully. How about you others?" she asked the other young men who had remained behind chatting among themselves and listening in, from time to time, on Matthew's conversation with Private Connell. There was a chorus of "Yes, thank you Mrs Bird," and Private Connell took it on himself to introduce Matthew to the six men who had remained.

All except one had served with the North Riding Volunteers, and all of them had been unable to find work. In the ensuing discussion, Matthew was able to find out a little about all of them, their war history and their current circumstances. In the course of the conversation, he also found out quite a bit about some of the other soldiers who had attended the lunch but left earlier.

At a little before two o'clock, the last of them departed, leaving Matthew, Mrs Bird and Mr Molesley sitting together in the now silent kitchen.

Matthew leant back and shut his eyes. He was exhausted but pleased to have made the effort of starting to get to know the local returned soldiers. The conversations had clarified a few of the problems they were facing trying to return to civilian life and get suitable work. Mrs Bird had been right. Some of them were quite lost, and he could see already that the solutions were not going to be easy, or quick.

"Captain Crawley, we've tired you out with all this talk," Mrs Bird said, concerned.

Matthew opened his eyes and smiled at her. "I am tired. But it was very good to start to get to know them. And I'd like to come back again when I can. Thank you for all you are doing here, Mrs Bird. I can see that if nothing else we won't be having the returned soldiers starving in this village with the nutritious and tasty food you are providing!"

He looked at Molesley. "Molesley," he asked, "Could you call Branson for me, please. I need to go home and rest now. But do you have a spare hour to come up to the Abbey on Monday? I've got some ideas on what we might do to help these chaps. And I'd like you to be involved."


	17. Chapter 17

Mr Cornforth, Sir Richard Carlisle's Butler, retrieved the morning's mail for the staff and began handing the items out at the start of luncheon. "Three for you, James," he said to the young footman. "Two for you Mrs Brown, and one for you Miss Burton," he said.

Mary Burton took a seat at the table and opened the letter, which she recognised from the handwriting as being from her mother. She read a few lines, then let out a gasp, and said "oh no!"

"What is it, Miss Burton?" asked Mr Cornforth.

"Sir, my Great Aunt has taken ill. My mother expects me to go to her immediately."

"For how long, Miss Burton?" Mr Cornforth looked concerned.

She looked at him, her face full of anguish. "The illness is serious. My mother is saying it could be months, and I am the only family member in a position to help. I'm so sorry, Mr Cornforth. I'm going to have to resign."

0-0-0-0-0-0

With his mother and cousin Violet expected for dinner, Matthew chose to eat with the family on Saturday evening. Shortly after the main course had been served, Violet turned to him and said "I understand you helped out at Mrs Bird's charity luncheon on Thursday. Did you learn what you hoped to?"

"Matthew did what?" Cora asked in surprise.

"Helped Mrs Bird and Molesley serve the luncheon for the returned soldiers," Edith explained patiently.

"What on earth. But why?" Cora frowned.

"I wanted to understand their situations a little better," Matthew said, trying not to feel impatient with Cora. "Helping to serve the lunch was an opportunity to meet and talk with them."

"So let us know what you learned Matthew," Violet said again.

"Yes, please do!" echoed Edith.

Matthew explained what he had found out. How none of them had been able to find work. That the reasons were varied: disablement for some, shellshock for others, and pretty much all of them unsure how to go about even looking for a job, especially if they needed to apply in writing.

"To use Mrs Bird's words, the picture I got was that they are a group of lost souls," he said soberly. "Through no fault of their own. These men have made enormous sacrifices fighting for their country. And here they are, having survived the war, being reduced to little more than beggars. With nothing meaningful in place to help them re-integrate and get back into work."

"What do you think they need?" Mary asked.

"Do we need to look at some further charity effort?" Robert added.

"It's not charity that Matthew has in mind," Isobel said looking at her son intently.

"That's right," Matthew said quietly. "We've all seen the '_Jobs not Charity'_. slogans being used in the rallies the wounded servicemen are holding. We need to take that call seriously. To answer Mary's question, I think what they need is practical help and advice. Not another handout."

Sybil then recounted what she had seen at a rally in York: how the numbers of disabled veterans were overwhelming, and Isobel followed, explaining what the Red Cross was doing to assist in the rehabilitation effort.

After the ladies had gone through, Carson reappeared to offer cigars and whisky. Matthew declined, asking instead for a glass of soda water and lemon.

After Robert had lit his own cigar, Matthew asked, "What are your connections these days with the North Riding Volunteers? Do you meet often with the officers?"

Robert shook his head. "No," he said sadly. "Most of the ones I knew involved in active service have either died or been invalided out. And the few others that I know left are still engaged at the front. And besides, at this point in the war, there seems little point in jollying people along with parades and fundraisers. So the role of the ceremonial head has been a quiet one these past months."

"Do you see any role for yourself in supporting the local men from the regiment?" Matthew asked directly.

"I don't know what I could do," Robert looked troubled. "We pay for the food for the luncheon, and allow the kitchen staff up here time off to help Mrs Bird. Short of setting up some sort of relief fund, I can't see how I could help further."

"If we could look at setting something up to help them find work, would that be something you would like to be involved with?" Matthew asked, and then added, "I've got a few ideas about what we could do."

Robert had a strange expression on his face. "My dear boy," he said at last. "This is your war. You can see what needs to be done, and with your legal skills and business experience, you are well placed to lead that effort.

"I am happy to support, through some financial means, what you wish to put in place, but I cannot see what I could practically offer further than that," he frowned. "And besides. You will be Earl here one day. You spearheading this effort will help you get to know the people of Downton, and that can only be a very good thing."

_That puts Violet's comments in perspective,_ thought Matthew. R_obert can't see he can practically help, even though I can see what he could do... He can only see what he's always done - provide money in the background to make things happen. But he's right when it comes to me leading this. This is our generation's war._

"Just who is it you are looking to involve in these efforts?" Robert asked curiously.

"Evelyn is keen to do something to support the soldiers back to work," Matthew replied. "We've talked about it these past weeks. And whilst Evelyn and I are constrained in what we can practically do at the moment, Molesley has time to spare these days. I've asked him to come and talk to us next week about helping out."

"Molesley?" Robert asked in surprise. "In what capacity could he help? I can't say he's the first person I would have thought of!"

"Molesley is proving to be a highly effective Butler," Matthew said with a grin. "In stark contrast, I might add, to his rather bumbling approach to being a gentleman's valet!"

Robert smirked. "Go on," he said.

"Molesley's got the budget at Crawley House very tightly managed, and he looks after all the secretarial work associated with my mother's various charitable pursuits. He's proving very good at correspondence and maintaining good procedures and records. So helping to set up and administer something is one of a few areas I can see him assisting."

"And the other areas?" Robert queried.

"I've watched him on more than one occasion help Mrs Bird and other members of the staff when they have needed to write official letters. He's got a very nice manner when he does this. Patient, and sort of like a teacher. It makes me think he's ideally placed to help these soldiers when they need to write to future employers," explained Matthew.

"Hmm," Robert said, impressed. "Well, I guess it's certainly worth a go. How about you come to me once the three of you and whomever else you involve have got a clear idea of what you wish to set up, and we'll talk again about how I can support it financially."

"Thank you, Robert," Matthew said. Robert smiled. "At least the money side is something I can do. And for now, my boy, how about we go through and join the ladies?"

0-0-0-0-0-0

Mary had been at the hospital late, trying to sort out a supply hiccup, and it was almost ten o'clock when she finally arrived home. She went straight downstairs to the kitchen hoping to catch Anna before she left for the night, a package for her from the estate's Solicitor, Mr Murray, in her hands.

The servant's hall was empty, but she heard voices in the kitchen. As she approached, she overheard Daisy and Mrs Patmore conversing.

"But it's Mr Matthew," Daisy was calling to Mrs Patmore. "Mr Matthew!"

"Well, of course, sandwiches won't do! Tell her we'll have a meal up as soon as we can," she heard Mrs Patmore call back.

As she entered the room Daisy was busy lighting the stove. She leapt up when she saw Mary. "M'Lady, what can I do for you?" she asked, surprised to see Mary in the kitchen so late.

"I was looking for Anna, but I see she's already gone," she said looking round. "Yes, Anna left about a half an hour ago, m'Lady," Daisy answered.

"Very well," Mary replied. "I'll leave this package for her in the mail tray and she can fetch it in the morning." She smiled at Daisy. "I couldn't help overhearing you when I came in! That is very generous of you to provide a meal to Captain Crawley at this hour! I'm sure he would have been perfectly happy with a sandwich."

"It's no trouble, really it isn't m'Lady," Daisy said. She paused and then said shyly, "Me and Mr Matthew, we have an understanding, through William you know."

"Yes of course you do," Mary said gently. "But it's very generous of you just the same, and I know Captain Crawley will be most appreciative."

She bade them good night and went back upstairs intending to go straight to bed. She was tired after the long day, and slightly rattled by the testy conversations she had been forced to have with the medical supply company that had failed to deliver the now critically needed bandages yet again.

Carson met her in the hall saying, "Captain Crawley wishes to see you before you retire m'Lady. He told me categorically that no time would be too late," Carson raised an eyebrow. "Is everything all right m'Lady?"

Mary was puzzled. She was at a loss as to what would be so urgent. She shook her head slightly. "I'm not sure what it is Carson, but I will go to him now."

"Have you eaten?" he asked. "Yes, I had dinner with the nurses at the hospital. We had a problem I had to stay late to sort."

"Very well, m'Lady. I'll say good night."

"Thank you Carson, a good night to you too."

She headed straight to Matthew's room and knocked "Come in" she heard him answer.

"Mary!" Matthew smiled up at her. _She is so beautiful,_ he couldn't help thinking. His face softened as he surveyed her cheeks, rosy from the walk home in the brisk night air, and the startling contrast they made with her beautiful chestnut brown eyes and pale skin.

"Good evening," she smiled back at him. "I hear I'm not the only one who has had a long day." Her smile vanished as she took in his ashen face and the dark circles under his eyes. "Matthew, just what sort of a day was it? You look completely wrung out!"

"Tired is all," he replied with a yawn. "Charles and I didn't finish at the office until eight o'clock."

Mary was shocked. "Matthew, that is far too long a day this early in your recovery," she admonished him.

"Don't you start," Matthew grumbled. "I've already had a dressing down from Sister Thomsen. But I did manage to lie down for an hour or so at the office, and I am going to spend tomorrow in bed." He gave a tired smile. "And I will be very glad to." He sighed. "Today was not easy by any means."

"What was it that kept you so late? Mary frowned. "And why did you ask to see me now?"

"Mary," he said, a smile lighting up his face. "It's done! Very soon you'll be free of Carlisle. Forever. And he won't ever be able to publish!"

She gave a gasp, her eyes wide, and she sank onto the edge of the bed.

"The papers will be delivered to him tomorrow," Matthew went on. "He will have to sign and have the papers back to us by midday Monday, or we'll be releasing what we have on him, and believe me, it could do real damage to his business empire."

"But why now Matthew? Why was there the hurry today of all days?" Mary was perplexed.

"Hadn't you remembered Mary?" Matthew said gently, "That tomorrow is when he is due back from India? And that he was expecting you to confirm your wedding date this very weekend?"

She gave a sudden start, and stared at him, open-mouthed. "No, she said, almost imperceptibly. "It had completely gone out of my mind. She paused and Matthew waited. After a long moment she said, "I think since I confided in you that time, and then knowing more recently how well you were progressing with it, I'd completely forgotten the date he was to return! Matthew. I'm so sorry."

Matthew took her hand and gave her a reassuring smile.

"It really doesn't matter you know. In fact I'm very glad he's been off your mind. That can only be a good thing!

"And besides, we've had our eye on the date for you. I must say, I'd hoped we would have had things settled a little earlier than this, but we had to wait until only yesterday for one last important piece of information.

"So that was why the big day today," said Mary.

He nodded. "We had to reframe a couple of our legal arguments, as well as getting everything checked, proofed and copied. We got there but it took us some very hard and fast work to finish it."

"Was that extra information to do with, to do with those women you told me about a few weeks back?" She asked tentatively. She had been upset, but deep down not surprised if she was really honest with herself, when Matthew had told her that they'd uncovered evidence of liaisons with women on his staff.

"Yes it was," he said gently.

"Tell me," she said, taking a breath to steel herself.

"What we found is a little worse than we thought. Illegitimate children are involved, I'm afraid. We found that he's paying two different women in two different towns weekly allowances in exchange for their silence. We've ascertained that both have a child that is his. What both the women have in common is that both of them are former secretaries of his. Matthew cleared his throat and nodded at her. "And... one of the women has a three-month old child. That means Richard has been cheating on you during your engagement."

Mary began to shake. The horror of what she had so narrowly avoided was coming clearly into focus and it was almost too much to bear.

Matthew put his hand on her arm. "Are you all right? Unfortunately that's not all of it. But I can stop if it's too much you know." He looked at her steadily, his blue eyes full of compassion.

She took a deep breath. "No… please go on Matthew. I need to hear this. Tell me what else."

"Tax fraud," Matthew stated categorically. "We've copies of the detailed financial records that prove it."

"How did you find all this out? Mary was amazed. "I can't believe you've got so much on him, and it's only been five weeks!"

Matthew smiled at her.

"My dear, it's better you don't know the full details. Lets just say, I called in a few favours. Out of those we were lucky enough to get help from people with very close access to Richard's papers."

"Richard's staff," Mary breathed.

"Maybe," Matthew said evasively. He paused for a moment, and then looked at her again his expression troubled. "There is something else. We're not including this matter in what we put to him however as it's too serious."

"Oh?" Mary asked, frowning.

"Remember how I talked to you about what Eddie was following up – a suspicion that war information was being misused? It appears information, about some of the Western alliance battalions and strategy has been leaked to a German operative posing as a journalist. The leaker appears to be that employee of Carlisle's I told you, who was stationed with the Press Bureau. Someone talked, and rather than stick around and explain himself, he abruptly resigned. Carlisle's company sacked him a week later, and he seems to have gone to ground."

"So how doe that implicate Richard?" Mary asked. "From what you've just said, it looks like he and his company have done the right thing!"

"That's where what we found in the financial information comes in," Matthew said grimly. "We found payments to this chap authorised directly by Carlisle, and quite separate to his wages. Each of the payments were made a day after Carlisle himself appears to have been paid a cash sum into a bank account separate to his main company accounts."

"M Matthew, Mary's voice was shaking, "You mean," she said incredulously, "that I could have ended up married to a man who may have been complicit, or possibly even deliberate, in actions to undermine the war effort?

Matthew nodded, mute, his eyes darkening, the voicing of Carlisle's betrayal somehow worse, here at Downton, in a convalescent hospital. Here, where there were so very many men who had paid and continued to pay, very heavily for their efforts to maintain their country's freedom.

Mary's face had drained of colour.

"I think I'm going to be sick," she murmured and she bolted from the room. He could hear her retching in the bathroom next door, and he clenched his jaw.

It was five minutes before she was back, pale, but somewhat resolute.

"What are you going to do?" she asked in a low voice, coming to sit by him on the bed once more.

"Gather as much more information as we can, and then hand the whole lot over to the Military Intelligence Service," Matthew said grimly. "It's too serious for us not to report."

"I see," she breathed. She stood up and paced the room for a few minutes. Matthew watched her silently. When she eventually sat back down on the edge of his bed again, she looked at him solemnly and said "Even with all of this, I think that I won't feel that this nightmare really IS over until I see his actual signature on the paper. Richard is very powerful you know. And scary. I worry he will pull some other card out of his sleeve."

"You're right to worry Mary. You must never say anything of what I've told you to anyone else, including inside the family. And you must promise me you will be very careful in the next few days. I wouldn't put it past him to come here and try and force your hand," Matthew said grimly. "Please promise me that if he calls to the house, you don't consent to see him alone."

Mary nodded and bit her lip.

They sat in silence for a moment, and then a knock at the door startled them both.

"Oh, that will be your meal Matthew," Mary said, suddenly remembering the conversation she'd had with Daisy in the kitchen.

"Come in," said Matthew, and Mary went to open the door.

Daisy entered with a tray, bringing with it the rich aroma of meat stew.

"Why thank you very much, Daisy, I was only expecting a sandwich, not a banquet!" Matthew was genuinely touched as he surveyed the ample serving of stew, potatoes, carrots and beans that she placed on his bedside table.

"It's our pleasure Mr Matthew, and I hope you like the apple pie too, which is under that plate to the side. It's this season's apples," she added proudly.

"I know already that I will enjoy it very much. I am very touched Daisy, really I am. You have gone to such an effort for me so very late in the evening," he said gratefully.

Daisy smiled. "It's our pleasure, Sir!"

Matthew bade her good night. "Don't forget to thank Mrs Patmore too," he called after her as she left.

"I'll certainly do that, a very good night again to you Sir, and m'Lady" she called back from the hallway.

"She's very sweet isn't she," Mary said fondly. "I was down in the kitchen when the call came in for your meal and I overheard them talking about you, you know."

"Oh really?" Matthew smiled.

"You're very special to them. They were both adamant that because the patient needing a late meal was you, it couldn't possibly just be sandwiches!"

Matthew laughed. "Daisy will always have a special place in my heart," he said smiling. He was silent a moment, lost in his own thoughts of William and the huge loss he was to Daisy and himself.

Mary realised Matthew had still not touched his food. "Here," she said gently, picking up the tray and placing it carefully on his lap. "You really need to eat."

He caught her eye, and lifting the glass of water, waved it toward her with a smile and said: "To you my dear Mary, and may the nightmare of Carlisle soon be over." He took a sip and started on the fragrant stew. He was ravenous after the intensity of the day, and the length of time since the hurried sandwiches he and Charles had grabbed at twelve o'clock. He ate with such speed that Mary began to laugh, enjoying the spectacle. "It is wonderful to see you actually **eat** for a change!" she giggled.

"Well," he said, forking a piece of the succulent meat, "This is, without question, one of the tastiest stews I've had for a very long time. How do they make it so good?"

"You do know that it's left overs from the servant's dinner," Mary said with a smirk.

"Well if that's the case, perhaps we should ask Mrs Patmore if she could arrange for a bit of meal swapping next time stew is on their menu," he said forking up another mouthful. He chewed it, swallowed and said: "it most certainly beats salmon terrine and saffron sauce anytime!"

Mary giggled again. "Matthew Crawley," she said in mock outrage. "Where is your sense of propriety? You'll be asking to sit with them at dinner next!"

"You know, **Lady** Mary," he teased. "I might just do that, for nothing more than the pleasure of watching your reaction."


	18. Chapter 18

Rage continued to build in the heart of Sir Richard Carlisle, as his Rolls sped north from London to York. The initial shock and dismay and sheer humiliation of this, this utter blindsiding that had arrived in the form of the papers from the lawyers at Harvell and Carter was now over.

In its place was a steadily hardening sense of resolve. He must speak to her. He would have it out with her. He had been so very, very sure of her affections – after all, she had trusted him with her darkest secret. She had come to him voluntarily, so cool and calm, revealing to him all of the devastating and sordid details of her affair with that ghastly Turk. What was that, if not evidence of genuine belief and affection in him and all that he could achieve?

It just could not be that she was contemplating throwing him over for a common lawyer, and an invalided one at that. Yes, he thought, setting his jaw, she could surely be persuaded, if not with some gentle reminders of the fineries he intended to bestow upon her, but with the spectre of their future as a powerful couple of influence in the world of business and politics. He would have to promise, of course, that there would be no more flirtations with other women, but that could be easily arranged. Perhaps he would stick with male secretaries from now, and keep his liaisons with other ladies to his time offshore.

He pulled out the picture he kept of her in his billfold and studied the dark almond shaped eyes, her heart shaped face and perfect mouth. How could she be contemplating turning him down? He had been so looking forward to showing her off, to have access to the new doors her very presence would have opened for him. How could she possibly be leaving him for a cripple when she could have him by her side and London at her feet? He growled and clenched his fist. Perhaps that was what was needed. A reminder of the dull monotony her life would become as his nursemaid. Yes, perhaps some straight talking on that front would help too.

Seeing her was the only way. All he needed from her was a simple _"Yes"_ and a confirmation of the date for their wedding. If that could be secured then the efforts of Harvell and Carter would surely come to nought. If she was in the picture with him, well they just could not dare, could they?

0-0-0-0-0-0

Thursday, and then Friday had both passed without a word from Sir Richard Carlisle or his lawyers. Saturday dawned unseasonably warm and calm. Mary had just risen, having enjoyed a rare sleep in, a period of relative quiet at the hospital sparing her the usual Saturday shift.

Matthew was enjoying a convivial exchange with Robert in the small library, the pair of them having just finished the review of the estate's monthly accounts they now conducted together. Robert was getting to his feet to ring the bell for tea when there was a knock on the door and Carson entered, puffing ever so slightly. "I'm very sorry to interrupt my Lord, but Sir Richard Carlisle is at the door requesting an audience with Lady Mary. I am somewhat concerned by his countenance and thought you might wish to be made aware of his presence before I ask Anna to summons her."

"Thank you, Carson," Robert answered. "You are correct. Mary must not see Sir Richard alone. Matthew, are you coming or would you rather remain here? I don't want you at any risk from the anger of this man in your present condition."

"I need to be there Robert," Matthew stated firmly. "I know every word of the papers we've served on him. And why do I get the feeling the bastard's going to need some reminding of just what we've got on him?" he muttered more to himself, than to Robert and Carson, but Robert caught the swear word and his lips gave a slight twitch.

Robert paused for a moment. "Matthew, should he be seeing Mary at all? Or do we just send him packing?"

"Unfortunately," Matthew said with a sigh, "if I'm speaking as a solicitor, it is best we are seen to act in good faith here and at least ask Mary whether she wishes to receive Carlisle. If she, herself decides not to, then well and good. But it is important that Richard hears and sees that it is her making this decision, not us."

"Very well," Robert said grimly. "I can't say I like it though."

"On that, we all agree my Lord," said Carson, his mouth an uncharacteristic thin line.

"Carson, please send for Sergeant Barrow immediately – this situation involves potential risk to one of his patients," Robert said, taking the handles of Matthew's chair. "And only after we are all in the entrance together must you send for Mary."

"Of course Sir," Carson turned on his heel and walked rapidly away.

As they hurried up the hallway, Matthew and Robert heard a sudden commotion break out in the direction of the Great Hall. When they arrived a few seconds later, they could see that Carlisle had pushed past the footman, and was striding up from the front door. Alfred was trying in vain to stop him with calls of "Sir, please wait here Sir, you can't go in there until the Butler returns Sir!" to no avail.

"Sir Richard," Robert boomed. "Stop right there!"

Almost skidding to a stop, Sir Richard drew himself up to his full height, a sneer forming on his lips. He stood a good half head taller than Robert. Pushing his chin up in the air, he looked down his nose at Robert and barked "Lord Grantham. I am here to see my fiancé. And I request that I might speak with her alone."

"Lady Mary is being informed you wish to speak with her, Sir Richard," Robert said coldly. "And only should she wish to," Robert emphasised, "will she be with us shortly.

"Furthermore, I understand that you have received notice, these two days past, that she intends to break her engagement with you. Therefore you must know that I will not permit you to speak with her alone."

Richard spat. "Pah!" His rage was growing. The sudden appearance of Carson and Sergeant Barrow who silently lined up alongside Alfred, Robert and Matthew made him angrier still.

"What is this nonsense? Some sort of comic welcoming committee? How dare you stop me from speaking with my fiancé alone? How dare you think you speak for her!"

"They don't," said a clear, resolute voice from the stairs. Mary appeared descending each step slowly and deliberately, her eyes on Sir Richard Carlisle and her mouth firmly set.

"These gentlemen are here to support me, Richard, because to be frank with you, your conduct toward me when we were last talking alone was not that of a gentleman. I will not put myself at risk of harm from you again."

Richard hesitated. This was unexpected. This wasn't what she was supposed to say. Wasn't she here to plead that her heart had been stolen by another? He was suddenly nonplussed. Where was the room for his carefully worded arguments now? He had quite forgotten the angry words they had exchanged when he had told her in a fit of jealousy that she must not, under any circumstances continue to nurse her cousin and she had refused outright. They came back to him now, and he felt just the slightest prickle of guilt. The aggressive grabbing of her arm. The punch to her face.

He smiled. "My dear Mary, a friendly slap? A pat on the arm? But you had made me so very cross that day. Actions, gentlemen," he continued without pause, looking around at them all with a magnanimous smile, "that surely any man takes from time to time with an errant wife!"

"I am not your wife Richard," Mary said steadily. "And it is my understanding that an engagement, a marriage are arrangements based on love and mutual respect, and not fear and jealousy. So as the papers from my lawyers that you were served this week state, I will not marry you. Not now, not ever. Goodbye Richard." With that, Mary turned and began to walk back upstairs.

"How dare you do this to me?" he raged, "You bitch! You just wait!" He looked quite mad and began to run towards the stairs. The Downton men closed ranks in an instant and he found himself blocked and pushed back, at every twist and turn, by one or other of them.

He stopped, panting and grinding his teeth, looking like a cornered dog.

"I must ask you to leave my house immediately," Robert said coldly. "Or I will summons the police."

Matthew spoke for the first time, his voice cutting like ice. "Sir Richard, I have been instructed to tell you that Lady Mary's solicitor expects your signature on the papers you were served by the deadline stipulated. He further remonstrated with me that you be under no illusion that should he not receive your signature by the deadline, he will make good on the promise and provide the evidence he has gathered on your questionable business practices and your immoral conduct to the relevant authorities." He paused. "Is that clear?"

"I'll sign the blasted papers but I'll have you know, Crawley, that this isn't over. This won't be the last from me, not for you, you pack of bastards, or for the bitch," his head gesturing towards the stairs.

There was a collective gasp of shock at his words and both Robert and Matthew could see that Carson was about ready to flatten him.

"Your use of such derogatory language is yet more evidence why Lady Mary has made the right decision in turning you down Richard. You are no gentleman. You are nothing more than a common thug," Matthew spat.

"Now get out of my house!" Robert shouted and he took a step towards him.

"Bastards the lot of you!" Richard turned abruptly on his heel and swept out of the hall, through the entrance way and out of the front doors.

The five of them were silent for a moment, looking alternately at each other, then the door, and back again, not quite daring to believe the confrontation was actually over. Finally, Alfred cleared his throat and said lightly, "Charming fellow! Can't say I'm not absolutely thrilled to see the back of him!"

They all laughed, and Robert turned to Carson saying, "Carson, I believe a drink is in order. Can you bring in that bottle of single malt that Shrimpy sent me yesterday and glasses for us all? He smiled around at the group. Alfred and Sergeant Barrow raised their eyebrows at each other, flattered and pleased at this unexpected opportunity to share a drink with the Earl.

As Carson poured the glasses and handed them round, he said "We've sent him packing for now, but I have to say this exchange has left me with a nagging doubt m'Lord, Captain Crawley. That threat he made when he left _"I'm not finished with you!"_" He frowned. "Do you think he was serious? I do worry for Lady Mary's sake."

Matthew and Sergeant Barrow shared a fleeting look, perceptible only to them. With an effort, Matthew turned his chair to face Carson and said slowly, "I have no doubt that in Carlisle's mind he has not finished with us. However, Carlisle has something coming to him shortly, something that I am not at liberty to speak of. The magnitude of what he has coming to him will pretty much guarantee he cannot touch Mary, or indeed any of us, ever again."

There was a brief questioning silence, but Matthew gave a slight shake of his head. No, this really was a matter that must not be discussed further. Swallowing, Robert picked up his glass and turned to look at them each in turn. "Gentlemen, let's take heart from Matthew's words but spare him the questions. No doubt we will all become enlightened in due course. Let's raise our glasses now, to the banishment of Sir Richard Carlisle!" They all raised their glasses, "to the banishment of Sir Richard Carlisle!" clinking and smiling, and then indulging in an animated recount of how the events had unfolded, the stories becoming ever so slightly more exaggerated as the warmth of the whisky took hold.

Matthew and Sergeant Barrow left first, Matthew, by now desperate to lie down, and Sergeant Barrow due back on the ward. He organised a nurse to assist Matthew in his room, and then sent for Mary: Matthew had been anxious to find out how she was.

There was a knock on Matthew's door "Come in" he said, his voice a little muffled as the nurses had laid him on his front.

"Good afternoon Sir," said a voice, and turning his head he was surprised to see Anna.

Anna took a seat at the head of the bed where he could see her and said, "Lady Mary is out with Lady Grantham and Lady Sybil sir," she gave a big smile. "We smuggled her out of the house down the back stairs while you were all dealing with his silly tantrum. I just had a call from her which she asked I relay to you as she knew you would worry – she said to tell you she is feeling fine, and that she is enjoying a restorative cup of tea at the Dower house as we speak!"

"Thank goodness," Matthew said with a sigh of relief. "He was quite mad you know, I was so glad we had a whole lot of us."

"Quite so, we could hear him clear as anything all the way upstairs!" She shook her head at the recollection.

"I'm quite glad to have a chance to speak with you, Sir… this trouble, well the part of it with Sir Richard, it was stirred up by Vera Bates you know." She shook her head, again, this time with a slightly sad, wistful expression. "If things had just been a bit easier for John, well, we might have never had things come to this.

"I just wanted you to know that I'm so terribly sorry it's involved you all!"

"Anna," Matthew said gently, "you and Bates are not, never were to blame. Neither is Mary. You have all been victims at different stages of this sorry tale. Victims of individuals with no scruples – Pamuk, Vera Bates and Carlisle and…" he stopped suddenly remembering Edith, Barrow, O'Brien: the others who had also, unwittingly or perhaps deliberately made things worse, "and some other people whose actions unwittingly added to the situation."

He gave a deep sigh, exhausted all of a sudden not only by the events of the morning but the intensity of the week's prior. A series of unpleasant memories began to course through his mind.

If only. If only Thomas hadn't been blackmailed into showing Pamuk her room. If only Mary had ignored Pamuk saying she was already ruined, and actually screamed. If only Edith had thought, really thought, before she sent the letter. He might be married by now. There might have been an heir. And Anna and Bates would be enjoying domestic bliss. Instead, Bates was rotting in a cell, until Vera's suicide could be proven, something else he should really be helping George Murray with but damn it he was still tired and sore three days after spending just a day at the office. And worst of all, he and Mary were both alone, his devastating injury having put paid to any hope of a marriage they might once have been able to have.

"Are, are you alright Sir?" Anna asked timidly, sensing the drop in his mood.

"Just tired," he gave a small smile, suddenly feeling very out of sorts. "It's been a long morning."

She stood up. "I shall leave you to rest. Do you need me to call anyone?"

"If you wouldn't mind, could you see if one of the nurses could step in," he replied, vaguely aware that he really wasn't feeling right at all.

The breeze from the partly open window caused the door to shut with a loud 'bang' when Anna left. It made him jump, and all of a sudden he was fighting a surge of panic. Thank god he had asked her to get the nurse. The panic was coming in waves now, and he could feel his body starting to shake. He groaned and buried his face back into the pillow, trying to block it all out.

The shell hole was full of bodies, and he and William were trapped among them, trying to climb out. Every time they took a step they sank deeper, their feet crunching on flesh and bone, the smell of death assaulting their senses. Above the hole, looking down on them with a triumphant smile, was Sir Richard Carlisle "I'm not finished with you Crawley," he said, and with bile rising in his throat, Matthew saw he was pushing Mary along in front of him, her face a picture of pure terror. Richard's huge hands were tightening around her neck "No, no!" he was screaming. "Mason, we've got to get to her!" But their attempts were in vain and both of them were slowly sinking, being buried alive by bodies. It was getting harder and harder to breathe. Mary was further away now. He could see her swaying, her face now a pale shade of blue. Then she, too, was falling. "No!"

Captain Crawley, Captain Crawley!" a gentle voice was calling him. "It's alright, it's just a bad dream Sir…" Captain Crawley, you're safe, you're here at Downton, we've got you, Sir."

"Mary! He's killing her, I've got to get to Mary!" Matthew was shouting, tears coursing down his cheeks, his heart hammering in his chest.

And then he heard his mother's voice, and the horror of the images started to fade. Careful hands were rolling him over, propping him up. A cool flannel was being held to his forehead, and someone was cradling him. "Matthew you're safe, I'm with you, my dear, you're safe now, you're here with me," Isobel soothed.

"Mother..." he was sobbing uncontrollably "Mother…"

Isobel held him for a long time. It was the worst flashback he had had in weeks. They had found him completely drenched, and he had quite badly bruised and cut his hand where he had hit it against the bedside table.

He had been doing so very well the past little while, and she had even allowed herself to think that maybe, just maybe, he was finally getting free of the shellshock that had plagued him for more than a year now, well before he had returned critically injured from the war.

She was worried. What had triggered this? She knew he had been working hard on the legal work to help Mary free herself of the horrid Richard Carlisle, and that there had been an altercation with Sir Richard just prior, as Sir Richard's shouting had been so loud it had carried to the ward. She was also aware of the hours he'd been putting into reading up on the latest changes in the law to prepare himself for his return to full-time work in the coming months.

This turn didn't seem to make sense. But perhaps he had just been doing too much and exhaustion was the trigger. She blinked back tears at the unfairness of it all. Her gentle, caring son – she hated to see him like this.

When he was finally himself and his hand had been attended to, they helped him wash and got him into pyjamas so that he could rest. Sister Thomsen left, and after a cup of tea, Isobel took a deep breath and asked him gently if he could remember what had happened.

"It was the door slamming," he said quietly.

"And?" she said. She knew, from his past attacks that there would have been something else.

"I was thinking about what could have been… if that awful Pamuk chap hadn't forced himself on Mary. And how I haven't done enough to help Bates. How Mary and I might have already been married. And how it's not going to happen now. I guess it just reminded me of everything that I've lost," he said his voice shaking slightly, and his fingers working the edge of the bed sheet.

"I started to feel unwell, and then when the door slammed shut, I, well I can't remember much after that except for the nightmare." He shuddered suddenly.

Isobel thought for a moment, and then she said carefully, "Matthew, you've always been prone to worrying. And you are very hard on yourself. Ever since you were a very little boy. I think, sometimes, that you're too intelligent for your own good – you think too much. But the war has made you vulnerable. A lot more than you were before. This shellshock that you are suffering from - you need to recognise that your habit of worrying and being hard on yourself is putting you at risk. It's triggering flashbacks."

"What can I do Mother? How can I make it stop?" a single tear rolled down his cheek. Isobel reached over and took his hand.

"You need to find a way to manage it," she said gently. Try and notice when it's starting to happen, and then have some things you can do to stop it."

"What sort of things?" he asked.

"Well, you'll need to find what works for you. But, if I think about myself, well sometimes when I start to panic, like if we have a difficult situation at the hospital, I tell myself I'm doing fine, and that I can manage. Other times, I try and focus on something nice, like looking out at the garden, or thinking of something that makes me happy. Those are the things that help me."

"Oh," Matthew said. "I hadn't thought things that simple might help."

Isobel gave him a small smile. "They can. And don't be afraid to try things out until you find what works best." A bit like with your physical recovery." She looked at him thoughtfully for a minute and then asked, "Mathew, when you said that you and Mary could not marry now, why is that? Has she turned you down?"

"No, it's not that at all, Mother. It's just... well Mary shouldn't have to put up with all this, he said gesturing his legs. And I can't give her children!"

"So you haven't asked her. You haven't given her the opportunity to choose for herself," Isobel said, trying not to sound cross.

Matthew started to say something and then stopped. He looked at his mother.

"Matthew, do you love Mary?" Isobel looked at her son intently.

"Yes," he answered, almost inaudibly. He had been fighting not to acknowledge what he truly felt for weeks, but here, with his mother, it was impossible to deny.

"Well then, ask her to marry you! Let it be her choice. Matthew." She leant over and kissed his forehead.

"And right now, you must rest. I'm going to give you a sleeping draught to help."


	19. Chapter 19

Matthew was unusually quiet the next few days, and Isobel began to worry that the depression might be coming back. Catching Major Clarkson at the end of a meeting at the convalescent home one morning, she told him her fears and asked him if he had time to talk to him.

"As a matter of fact, I do. I don't need to be back at the hospital for a while yet. Where is he?"

"Probably the small library," Isobel replied. "He's got a bit of legal work under way."

Sure enough, Matthew was at the desk in the library, reading some case law and taking notes as he went.

He looked up, surprised when Major Clarkson came in.

"Matthew, I hope I'm not interrupting," he began.

"Well as a matter of fact you are," Matthew said with a grin, that Major Clarkson was immediately pleased to see. "But I need an interruption. It's quite uncomfortable leaning over these books and I need to stop frequently."

"Would you like some tea?" Major Clarkson asked. "I would."

Major Clarkson stood and rang the bell, and then sat back down.

"I'm here to ask how you are. Your mother is worried about you," he said in his usual blunt fashion.

"She is, is she?" Matthew sat back and stretched his arms and shoulders and looked across at Major Clarkson.

He sighed. "I am feeling a bit melancholy. There is so much I want to be able to do, and my body is not letting me. I mean, even doing this reading. After a short time, I have sore shoulders and a headache… and it's a task that doesn't even require me to stand up!"

"How are you finding the physical therapy?" Major Clarkson enquired. "Is it helping?"

"A little bit. But to be honest, I find it quite dull and depressing. All those goals like learning to sit up without someone helping... they just remind me of what I've lost," he said and his face fell.

Major Clarkson raised his eyebrows at Matthew's words and said slowly, "I see."

"And is it the instructors? Does it make a difference whether it's Nurse Rose or Sister Crawley?"

"To a certain extent. Sybil is my favourite of course because she likes to talk and we know each other, and I know the other officers like her because she has a good sense of humour. But it's all the same approach to the exercises."

Carson arrived, and Matthew asked him to organise tea for them both. After he had gone, they resumed their discussion.

"Is that the main thing bothering you, or is there something else?" Major Clarkson queried.

Matthew thought for a moment and said. "You know, I think it is. It just feels too slow. I've been out of the hospital for more than two months now and I'm still not strong enough to wheel my own chair any real distance." He closed his eyes for a moment, and then shifted uncomfortably.

"And there's the ongoing pain, of course, which will be bothering you," Major Clarkson added.

"Yes, well that's pretty much constant, which is why I probably didn't think to mention it. But come to think of it, it's not helpful to one's state of mind either."

"Of course not," Major Clarkson murmured in agreement.

There was a knock on the door, and Carson arrived with a tea tray, which included some hearty slices of cake. "Well, this is a treat!" said Major Clarkson.

Carson smiled. "Something to do with you having tea with Captain Crawley sir. Mrs Patmore and Daisy are always keen to spoil him!"

"I see, you have some favour with them, Matthew?" Major Clarkson said raising his eyebrows at him.

"William," Matthew answered, a sad smile coming onto his face. "They are both very good to me."

"And you to them!" Carson said sternly with a smile all the same.

"Of course," Major Clarkson said.

Matthew thanked Carson as he turned to leave. The two men were silent for a while, enjoying the hot tea and delicious fruit cake.

"I was quite interested to hear what you said about the physical therapy," Major Clarkson said putting down his teacup. "I've had the same comments from a few of the other patients. Sister Crawley has been doing some research, and she is keen for us to try a very different approach with you all."

"And what would that be?" Matthew asked.

"There's been some work done with patients in America, where the whole approach is a lot tougher, and more about building general fitness and strength – the best way to describe it is like the all over fitness training an athlete might do to prepare for their races. It also seems that adding in a bit of competition, games and such like, works very well too."

"That sounds promising," said Matthew, sitting up a little straighter. "And if it could allow us to set some goals – something a bit exciting that's worth working towards – I can see that helping too."

Major Clarkson nodded. "If I can get the approvals for this trial, which I'm hoping will be any day now, would you be keen to take part in it?"

Matthew nodded. "Absolutely. Especially if Sybil is involved, and able to bring the latest thinking to it. I think she's got real potential. It would be good to see her allowed to do a bit of testing out. I often get the feeling she'd like to be doing more than she's told she can, on occasion!"

Major Clarkson smiled. "I suspect that you are right. Sister Crawley is very capable, and if she stays in the field of medicine after the war, which I very much hope she does, I believe she will be a real force for good."

Matthew was impressed to hear Major Clarkson talk about Sybil, like that. It was so very rare to hear a man encourage a woman in any career, and particularly in Medicine, so heavily the domain of men. _There is more to Major Clarkson than meets the eye,_ he thought, not for the first time.

They talked for a while longer, Major Clarkson telling Matthew how casualty numbers in the hospital were starting to drop, as the allies were gaining the upper hand in the campaign, and there were more and more surrenders.

"How is Sir Anthony?" Matthew asked.

"He is recovering fairly well," Major Clarkson answered. "Unfortunately his arm is quite severely injured, and I fear he may lose the use of it all together. We won't know for a while of course, but it's not looking good."

"Oh dear, that will be very hard for him, especially with the farm," said Matthew, dismayed. "And for Edith too. They are to marry in the spring!"

"War has a way of making things hard for far too many, Major Clarkson said quietly.

"By the way, Matthew, I finally got the written report from Dr Brookes a few days ago detailing his assessment of your situation," Major Clarkson began. Matthew snapped his head up and looked at him expectantly.

"To be blunt, I disagree with his conclusions," he continued his tone suddenly stiff. "So much so, that I would like to ask you if you'd like me to organise a second opinion through a referral to Dr Robert Jones instead."

"Who is Dr Jones?" Matthew asked.

A look of surprise came over Major Clarkson's face. _So Isobel hasn't told Matthew that story?_ He mused silently to himself. _Perhaps it's not surprising. He was so ill at the time... and unless he'd asked about his early treatment since then, why would it be a topic of conversation?_

"I must apologise Matthew. I had assumed, incorrectly, that Isobel might have told you about him. Dr Jones is probably the best specialist in spinal injuries we have in Britain. He is based at the Military Orthopaedic Hospital in London. When you were first admitted, he provided us with invaluable advice on how to treat you and care for you."

"How did you know to contact him?" Matthew asked, puzzled. "Wouldn't you, as an Army doctor have had to contact the York doctors instead?"

"It wasn't me," Major Clarkson said heavily. "It was your mother. She contacted one of your father's former colleagues, Dr Charles Stout, who is on the hospital's Board. We were hoping to have you transferred there for treatment. That turned out not to be advisable, so at your mother's insistence, he organised for us to have some immediate assistance, via telephone, from Dr Jones instead."

"Mother! Oh!" Matthew was momentarily overcome. The room was silent, save the heavy ticking of the grandfather clock, and the hiss and crackle from the fire in the grate. Major Clarkson busied himself pouring another cup of tea and waited until Matthew had composed himself.

"I would then, Major Clarkson. I would like a referral to Dr Jones. I have a very strong sense that I wouldn't be here to even have this conversation with you if my care had been based on the advice of Dr Brookes… I mean, I don't know that for sure, but he wasn't a man I felt I could trust and…" his voice wobbled again, "And I am so very grateful that mother..." he couldn't finish.

Major Clarkson looked at him and completed what he knew Matthew had wished to say. "Yes, without a doubt you are very lucky your mother pulled every string that she could, taking no notice of the Army chain of command on the way," his lips twitched.

"The advice that Dr Jones gave to us, and then the superlative way Isobel got the nursing team caring for you so well is, I've no doubt too, the reason why you're here and recovering as well as you are."

They were silent for a few more minutes, and Matthew helped himself to more tea. "Major Clarkson, tell me a little more about what Dr Brookes says, and why you believe he has it wrong."

"As he said to you before when he was here, he believes your spine has been at least partially transected at your waist, and that little further recovery can be expected. That is the primary matter upon which he and I disagree," Major Clarkson said frowning.

"Because?" Matthew asked.

Major Clarkson began to explain. Matthew's sense of touch above his hip line had returned, and the tingling in his right leg was increasing in frequency.

"But I don't have any real strength," Matthew countered. "I still can't sit up by myself for instance."

"And that is probably why, in my opinion, Dr Brookes has drawn the conclusions he has," Doctor Clarkson replied. "But in so doing, he has completely ignored the rest of your situation that would contribute to that being the case."

Matthew looked at him puzzled.

"Imagine, for a moment, you'd returned with the same injuries excepting the symptoms of paralysis," Major Clarkson began.

"Going through what you have, with multiple shrapnel wounds, a series of very serious infections, and three months lying in bed while the fractures in your back and pelvis healed, you would be, in terms of recovery, only a little ahead of where you are now!"

"So I wouldn't be walking yet anyway?"

"No. Your body has had a huge shock and in particular, those infections that robbed you of your strength. And lying in a bed for three months is never a good thing for the human body.

"Coming back from that was never going to be easy, as you are finding already, as it's like you're almost having to start right from scratch again in building up your strength and re-learning to use your body.

"Matthew, the last thing I want to give you is false hope. You sustained serious injuries to your back, so quite how much you will recover is still an unknown. That's why I'm recommending this referral in addition to my lack of confidence in Dr Brookes's report.

"And please, in terms of regaining your strength, it is going to take a long time and you must be very patient with yourself. I'd hate you to risk another bout of depression. It can be harder to come out of it if it recurs." He gave Matthew a kindly look, and then he stood up.

"And now I really must go. I was due back at the hospital by now!"

Matthew looked up at him and said "Thank you very much for this Sir. What you have told me has given me a whole different perspective on my situation," he shook his head. "Just knowing I wouldn't be much further ahead without the paralysis makes me see my recovery very differently too. I'm not sure why, but it does." He smiled. "And I really hope you get the approvals for this trial. I think it might make a real difference."

After he left, Matthew pondered Major Clarkson's words for quite a while. Just knowing that Doctor Clarkson believed there was now a modicum of uncertainty about not only that first devastating prognosis, but the follow up from Doctor Brookes changed everything.

The Doctor's words had also made him realise, a little uncomfortably, that he really needed to put more effort into rebuilding his strength. And that one of the reasons he really hadn't been applying himself was a nagging sense of doubt there was no point, when it was now, very obvious that there was every point. _Admit it, Matthew,_ he told himself y_ou really haven't been giving the physical therapy one hundred percent._

He thought again of his father, and what he knew he would have said to him _"don't let others define what your limits are."_

Major Clarkson's words had added to that, he realised. _Father, what you also needed to say was "don't let your own self-doubt limit you either."_ He took a deep breath and focused back on the law book open in front of him on the library desk.


	20. Chapter 20

Mary traced her fingers over the letter Matthew had set at the desk before her. Richard's scrawled signature. It was finally, really over.

She felt a palpable sense of relief. It was like a huge weight had been lifted from her chest. But with the relief, something else was also being unleashed, and she felt strangely out of sorts. She stood and went to the window, looking out. She paced. She returned to the desk and looked at Matthew, who was watching her silently, his face impassive.

And then it hit her. Grief. And now it was upon her in wave after wave. Grief in that she had come so close to throwing her life away on such a dishonourable man. That her trust in the goodness of people, and what she had seen as her duty to Anna and Bates had been so callously used against her. And that she had found herself in fear of the very man she had thought would put to bed the scandal of Kamal for her forever. And grief that Richard, through his actions, had forced her to relive that terrible night over and over again.

She gave a cry and seemed to crumple, and sank back onto her chair. She began to sob violently, her whole body shaking.

Matthew didn't know what to do. Mary rarely cried, and this crying was far worse even than when she'd first told him of Carlisle's blackmailing.

_Think_, he told himself firmly. _What would Mother do? "Hold her,"_ he heard her say. _"Let her cry and hold her."_

Mary felt Matthew's warm hands on her shoulders, gently coaxing her up off her chair and back towards him, into his lap. She leant into his chest as she continued to cry.

"Mary my dear, it's going to be all right, you're going to be safe now," he said gently.

He held her, passed her first one handkerchief, and then another from his pocket, and continued to soothe her with what he hoped were words of comfort. He stroked the top of her head. After what seemed quite some time, her sobs began to quieten. She climbed off his lap, and excused herself, walking to the bathroom to wash her face.

When she returned, he looked at her pensively and said, "I'm really sorry Mary. I feel as if I am partly to blame for you being in this situation – my blindness towards what he was really like to you." He sighed. "If I had been able to advise you on the Vera Bates matter... As if dealing with the Pamuk situation alone wasn't bad enough!"

"Don't be sorry," Mary looked across at him.

He cocked his head on his side gazing at her questioningly.

"You weren't to know," she went on. "You were building a new life with Lavinia, and rightly focused on her. Besides, you'd barely met him you were away so much at the war! How could you possibly have known what he was really like?

"I'm the one who needs to be thanking you," she said earnestly. "I don't know how I can ever repay you for what you have done for me these past months. You have been such an enormous support to me in so many ways."

Matthew looked at her in surprise. "What? B-But you've been nursing me, you brought me back from the brink for God's sake. Isn't it me who should be saying I couldn't have done without you? I've got you and Mother and Sybil to thank for my very life!"

"You may well say that Matthew. But that doesn't discount what you have been to me." He cocked his head again at her, puzzled.

Mary sighed and a small smile played at her lips. She was starting to feel ever so slightly impatient with the golden haired man seated opposite her, and his stubborn inability to see his own worth. She decided to take another tack.

"You know I think sometimes, Matthew Crawley, that for all your intelligence, you really can be quite dense," she said, her tone gently reproving. "If I must, I will spell out just exactly what I mean, in what I hope is enough detail for you to hear it. First, please reassure me that you really are listening, all right?"

Matthew took the hint. He was suddenly reminded of his mother and a very hard conversation that she had had with him a few months prior. The corners of his mouth twitched. "All right Mary. I am listening."

She pulled her chair closer to him, and reached across and took his hand, and placed it in her lap. _Such an elegant hand_, she thought to herself, admiring the long slender fingers and shapely wrist. She began to stroke it, saying, "When I'm with you in your room, or out on our walks and you smile at me when I hear you laugh and we share something funny in the papers, you make me feel good Matthew.

"When you ask about my office work at the hospital or my nursing, and you are so interested in it, I go back to it feeling inspired to do even better.

"When you are so generous with advice when I have a problem I feel like I've been listened to, and that someone cares.

"When you ask me about my day, and whether I am all right, when so often these past months I can see you are in considerable pain, I see how selfless you are, and that humbles me.

"Matthew, you make me feel worthy, you make me feel like I am a person who can contribute." She paused and thought for a minute before going on.

"Maybe... maybe it's because you are the only man I've ever known who's actually interested in me as a person. Who doesn't just see me as a problem to be solved by being married off, like my father, or looked at, like so many of the hideous men I had to endure in the Season, or, or, in in the case of Kamal and Richard," her voice began to break, "an object to be abused."

Her chestnut brown eyes were once again bright with tears but she held his gaze unblinking. He gazed back, his mouth half open, his jaw working slightly. They were both silent, for a moment, and then he held out his arms.

"Come to me please." She perched in his lap again, and he wrapped his arms around her, in a tight embrace.

"Thank you, Mary, he said at last, and his voice was unsteady. "Thank you for saying all that." He gave her another tight squeeze. "That was some speech my darling," he said, using the endearment with her unthinkingly.

She looked up at him then, the sweetest smile on her face and she kissed him. A very gentle kiss. They pulled apart, smiling at each other, and then they kissed again, a little more insistently this time, enjoying the softness and warmth of each other's lips.

Pausing once more, they drew back and studied each other, and then they both went to speak at once.

"You first," Mary giggled, and taking a deep breath, Matthew opened his mouth to ask Mary the question that for weeks now, he had lacked the courage to form into words: the question to which he was now desperate to know her answer. To his dismay, he heard voices outside of the door, and Carson was saying, "I think Lady Mary is in the small library m'Lady."

Mary sprang off Matthew's lap and resumed her seat next to him, just as the door opened and Cora walked swiftly in, a serious expression on her face.

"Mary," Cora began, "Oh, and Matthew too!" she frowned.

"Matthew has just shown me the letter from Sir Richard, Mama," Mary said with a wide smile, deliberately ignoring her mother's tone. "It's finally over! I am free of him and he is not able to release my story! Look!" She picked the letter up off the desk and passed it to her mother.

Cora read it quickly, and her face softened just a little. She looked up and turned to Matthew and said formally, "I haven't yet thanked you for your efforts on this Matthew, and with receipt of this letter, now seems a good time to do that. Robert and I are most grateful for how you have helped our family through this situation. We truly are. It is a far better outcome than we could ever have imagined."

"I was very pleased to be able to help," Matthew said simply.

There was a silence for a moment, and then Cora took a seat on the sofa next to Mary, and the frown reappeared on her face.

"What is it, Mama?" Mary asked.

"I've just taken a call from Aunt Rosamund's Butler in London. She has had a fall and has badly sprained an ankle. He is at his wit's end and asked if one of you girls could be spared to nurse her for a week or two until she recovers."

"Oh no, poor Aunt Rosamund!" Mary said worriedly. "Where did she fall?"

"Apparently she slipped on the pavement when it was wet from the rain. It happened close to her house," Cora explained.

"Mary, I would like you to go to her. I imagine Sybil will be too hard to replace at the hospital, and I understand from Major Clarkson she is soon to start running some new physical therapy programme up here. And with Sir Anthony…," her mother's voice trailed off, "It doesn't seem right to drag Edith away at the moment."

"No, and she's got her work with the home as well. A lot of people relying on her," Mary added. She thought for a moment and sighed. "I guess it will have to be me. Major Clarkson won't be pleased, but he'll understand. I am just a VAD after all. And Mama, can you look after the hospital administration whilst I am away?"

"Of course, my dear," Cora answered.

Mary gave Matthew a fleeting, slightly pained glance, and he raised his eyebrows ever so slightly back, knowing immediately she really didn't want to have to go, but that she had no real choice.

"When will I need to go Mama?" she asked.

"As soon as you can. How about you start with a talk to Major Clarkson, and we'll work it out from there."

"Very well Mama," Mary sighed. She and Matthew shared another glance, and this time Cora noticed, and a cool look came over her face, and the atmosphere in the room suddenly chilled. Matthew looked away, and Mary looked down at her lap.

Cora stood and brushed her skirts. She walked across to the bell and rang it. "Matthew, I'll get a nurse to take you back to your room. Mary, you need to go now and start making arrangements." She waited until Mary left, not looking at Matthew. When Carson poked his head into the room a few seconds later, she said briskly "A nurse for Captain Crawley please," and she turned on her heel and left without saying goodbye.

Matthew was seething. Cora's message was unmistakable. He knew what it was about, and to some extent he understood. But it was her rudeness he couldn't deal with. He rubbed his face with his hands, suddenly feeling quite deflated. He'd felt so very sure, just moments ago, that Mary did truly love him. And that she wanted him, needed him. And then Cora's actions had thrown that into doubt. Was he kidding himself? Could he really offer her something? Did he, a broken man, really deserve the love of a beautiful, whole woman?

To his enormous relief, the nurse who turned up a minute later was Sybil.

"Thank God it's you!" he burst out.

Sybil looked at him sideways, a smile playing at her lips. "Matthew, whatever is the matter? Have the other nurses turned into witches or something?"

Matthew laughed in spite of himself. "No, it's just… oh for goodness sake Sybil, can you take me outside, if I don't talk about what's just happened I'm going to go mad!"

"Very well, we can't have you going mad! That just wouldn't do," she fussed, her smile growing wider.

She fetched one of the throws from the sofa and tucked it round his legs, and she took him outside, fetching her coat from the closet adjacent to the grand hall on the way. It was almost dusk and cooling rapidly. "Where would you like to go?" she asked him.

"Somewhere no one will hear me shout," Matthew said grimly.

Sybil chuckled. "How about the walled garden? I've always found that a safe place for conversations you don't want others to overhear."

Matthew couldn't resist chuckling then. "You have a few of those, do you? With Tom?" He couldn't resist adding.

"Shh. You're not supposed to know about that," she said in mock outrage. They both laughed then, and they continued to joke and laugh until they reached the garden, the high stone walls gleaming a little eerily in the half light.

She parked his chair opposite a bench and sat down facing him.

"Tell me what happened," she said.

"Your Mother is what happened," Matthew replied grimly.

Sybil was concerned when she heard about Aunt Rosamund and that Mary would have to go to her, but she agreed, as did Matthew, that there was no way around it. But when Matthew recounted Cora's actions in so deliberately and rudely preventing himself and Mary from talking together after suspecting there was something between them, she let out a loud sigh, saying crossly "When I hear things like that it makes me wonder if I don't know my own mother at all!"

"What should I do, Sybil?" Matthew asked glumly.

"What is your heart telling you, Matthew?" Sybil replied looking at him intently.

He looked away. "I think you know," he said quietly.

"You love her," she said thoughtfully. "If I were you, I wouldn't do anything as far as my mother is concerned. It's not to do with her, much as she might want to pretend that it is!"

"But isn't she right?" Matthew countered. "I'm damaged goods. Wouldn't it be selfish of me to expect Mary to put up with all this?"

"Matthew," she said firmly. "You have been injured in a brutal war, in the service of our country. If anyone deserves a happy life and the love of a beautiful woman, it is you! And besides, you give Mary so much! Every time she's around you, she positively glows. If you can't think you deserve her love, then look at it from the other way around. Mary deserves to have your love. And I can't see Mary being happy with anyone else as long as you are on this earth."

Matthew was silent, gazing out across the now darkened garden. He shivered suddenly and Sybil said, "I think it's time we went back in. It's starting to get really quite cold."

"Yes, let's," Matthew said with a sigh. He ran a hand through his hair, lost in thought.

"There is one thing you must make sure you do though," Sybil said, as she took the handles of his chair, and Matthew detected a slightly mischievous note in her voice, "Write Mary lots of love letters while she is at Aunt Rosamund's. I can guarantee she won't be the easiest patient, and Mary is definitely going to need the distraction!"

In spite of himself, Matthew just had to laugh. And thank heavens he would still have Sybil to talk with whilst Mary was gone.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Mary got off the telephone with Major Clarkson, her face pensive. He had been totally understanding about her needing to go to her Aunt and said he was in receipt of a letter from an experienced VAD seeking a position with them, so he was confident he could replace her for as long as she needed to be away.

She really, really, didn't want to have to go. But there was nothing for it. Her Aunt needed her. She must do her duty. And grin and bear it. She was good at that, wasn't she? _We all are in this family,_ she reflected grimly. _Grinning and bearing it. The veritable British stiff upper lip._

She got to her room and pulled the bell cord to summons Anna. She sat down at her dressing table and surveyed her reflection in the mirror. Not a bad image, she decided. Her hair wasn't at its most perfect, nursing scarves put paid to that, and she was a little on the thin side thanks to the long, busy days on her feet at the hospital. She smiled as she remembered how it had felt being wrapped in Matthew's arms. The taste of him when they had kissed. Her skin prickled with pleasure at the recollection. Oh god, she was going to miss him!

Anna knocked and entered, and she quickly explained what was happening, and could Anna help her pack in time for the train first thing tomorrow.

"Much as I am worried about Aunt Rosamund, I really wish I didn't have to go," she said sadly. Anna sympathised. "A bit of bad luck, m'Lady. Especially with you and the Captain getting along so well," she said her lips twitching ever so slightly.

"Oh, Anna," Mary put her face in her hands. "I feel like my whole life has been getting tantalisingly close to being together properly with Matthew, and then it never quite happening! First Kamal, then the war, then Lavinia, then his injury, then Richard, and of late just the busy time we have been having at the hospital – and now this!" She turned to Anna. "Is it a sign? That we're not meant to be together?" she asked worriedly.

"Not at all, m'Lady," Anna said firmly. "The truth is, you have never stopped loving him through all of this. And neither has he you, truth be known, even if he did have that time when he denied it when he was with Miss Swire. And things happen. What is a few more weeks? Lady Rosamund will get better, and then you'll be home again with time to spend with the Captain. And I'll bet he will have missed you so much he will be well ready to ask for your hand!"

"Do you really think so?" Mary looked at her, not sure if she could dare to hope.

"I really do," Anna smiled. "Just make sure you write to him often. Something about these men, if he's anything like John, he'll need some regular reminders of just how much he matters!"

In spite of herself, Mary laughed. "Is that how Bates is getting by? Relying on your letters?"

Anna smiled. "You know, I think it is. So make sure you write the Captain often!"

"Thank you, Anna," Mary said. She felt a little better. "And for now, I guess we need to work out what clothes I'll need to take."

"We do indeed, m'Lady. I'll fetch your valise."


	21. Chapter 21

The unused reception room in the north-western corner of the Abbey had been totally transformed. "It looks like a college gym," Evelyn said as they entered. The three of them looked around in anticipation as they surveyed the mats, weights equipment, balance beam, parallel bars and other gym paraphernalia.

Matthew, Evelyn and Edward were among the twenty or so officers deemed well enough to take part in the trial of the new approach to physical therapy Major Clarkson had now got approval for.

Major Clarkson called them all to attention, and then he turned to a man Matthew hadn't seen before and said "Gentlemen, I'd like to introduce you to John Squires who, as some of you will know, coaches some of Britain's top athletes under Sam Mussabini. There was an excited murmur amongst the assembled officers. Major Clarkson paused until the muttering had died down, and then he said, "He's going to be working with you all and Nurse Rose and Sister Crawley for the next two weeks, helping you set goals and taking you through the routines until you're fully comfortable with them.

"Sister Crawley will work with him to test out the necessary adaptations some of you are going to need to make so that we can have all of you working right at, but not over your limits. And Mr Squires will be working with Sister Crawley to refine the programme so that she can lead it after he departs.

"We're hoping that by the time he goes, that you are all confident with, and being suitably challenged by your routines."

"Suitably challenged?" Edward raised eyes at Evelyn and Matthew. "Sounds serious!" They grinned at each other, and then quickly turned back to face the front as Mr Squires was standing up and about to speak.

"It was really tough, but really good if that makes sense," Matthew said to his mother as they were talking after dinner in the recreation room. She was on the night shift.

"What sort of things are you doing?" Isobel asked. "For me, it's building core strength first, so it was a whole lot of floor exercises, and some light weights," Matthew replied. He shook himself gingerly. "I'm pretty sore, you know. But it's a good sort of sore." She smiled, feeling genuinely happy to hear his enthusiasm.

"How about you, Evelyn?" she asked.

He grinned. "Same as Matthew until my splint is off in a month. And then it will be rebuilding my leg strength. I enjoyed it. A lot like the training I used to do when I was on the Eton athletics team. I can see already it's going to be really good for us all."

"Well, you might be pleased to hear that Sybil has been giving us nurses some training in massage with instructions that every officer on the programme is to have the opportunity for a half hour rub after every session. Apparently, it aids muscle recovery and the top athletes are using it now. So if you would like that, let me or Nurse Ellison know," she said.

"That sounds marvellous," Edward said. "We're going to be needing it if what Mr Squires said today about it getting tougher turns out to be the case."

"There's no doubt about that, Eddie," Evelyn drawled. "I think today he was just checking us all out, and I'll bet you from tomorrow it will be all on. Didn't you see the glint in his eye?"

Matthew and Edward chuckled, and Isobel raised her eyebrows and said wryly, "Well let the massage be a reward for the hard work you will all have to put in then. And for now, who would like a cup of tea? Supper has just arrived."

0-0-0-0-0-0

_September 21, 1918_

_Dearest Matthew,_

_I can't believe I've already been at Aunt Rosamund's a whole week. It hasn't been easy! The very first thing I had to organise was for her to shift into the guest suite downstairs. She was becoming most impatient, marooned upstairs in her bedroom, and believe me, Aunt Rosamund, when she is impatient is not a pretty sight. I've weathered more barbed comments and sarcastic asides in a mere week than I'd get from Edith in a month of Sundays before the war._

_At least now she can take her meals in the dining room, and spend a few hours in the sitting room, as she is accustomed. There has been a quite measurable improvement in her mood as a result!_

_London is dark and gloomy and everyone is hunkered down. Signs of the war are everywhere. The ubiquitous ration cards and the austere clothing. Injured soldiers beg on the street corners. War news continues to dominate the papers. The hushed talk of where to locate food items on the black market (yes, I've walked into several such conversations in Aunt Rosamund's kitchen already!) And people just seem tired. There is very little joie d'vivre._

_Aunt Rosamund is busy making sure I am appraised of every last detail of the happenings in the wider family, and I now know far more than I ever wanted to about Shrimpie and Susan's marriage woes and the parlous financial situation that Marmaduke's younger sister's husband has got his family into._

_I suppose the best I might say of it, is that it is providing me just a little light relief to the more serious business of budgets, medical supplies, injured soldiers and nursing shifts that usually occupy my mind._

_Walking through London yesterday afternoon, I kept seeing places I would like to visit with you: I passed the national gallery, the Savoy and the day before I walked past Covent Garden and thought how long it was since I had enjoyed the opera. Perhaps we could plan a trip for when you are stronger. And this war is over, which surely won't be long now. I know we would enjoy these places together. I do miss you! So terribly much. And now I must away. Aunt Rosamund is calling for me once more!_

_With all my love,_

_Mary_

0-0-0-0-0-0

Matthew found the first few weeks of the new programme very tough indeed. The sessions deliberately became more intense, and the demands of the instructors with them, and in the second week, he fell asleep from pure physical exhaustion during his afternoon rest several days in a row, something he had never done since he had been discharged from the hospital. In his darkest moments when he really wondered if he could stand anymore, he re-read Mary's letter, enjoying the warmth her words brought to his body, and the delight of knowing unmistakably, as the words were there, on the paper in her elegant handwriting, that she really did miss him. And some. _"With all my love, Mary."_ And that was enough to get him through the next gruelling session.

Reflecting on how he and his friends were going, Matthew observed that Evelyn was the one of them that always maintained good cheer, and what's more, seemed to have something left at the end of each session. Over dinner on Friday evening, he asked him about it.

"What's the secret, Evelyn?" he said. "I've found it a real struggle to keep going this week. Yet you always look as if you're enjoying it!"

"It's mind over matter," Evelyn explained. "If you go in thinking you're tired, or thinking you can't do it, then that's what will happen. But on the other hand, if you approach it thinking you can do this, or imagine yourself doing it with ease, then it becomes a whole different experience!"

He stared at Matthew thoughtfully for a minute. "How come you don't know this stuff? Weren't you a sportsman at university? I heard you played a mean game of cricket."

Matthew snorted. "I'm no sportsman," he shook his head. "Played cricket but that was all I did. And it's a gentleman's game. All that stopping and starting. It was nothing like what we do here."

"I suppose not," Evelyn agreed. "Well, try out what I've suggested at our next session. And see if it makes a difference."

_September 28, 1918_

_My darling Mary,_

_I had to laugh reading your letter and hearing about Aunt Rosamund. I could just see her giving you a lashing with her sharp tongue and expecting you to respond instantly to her every demand! I do hope she gets better soon, for your sake as much as hers. I feel most remiss at not having written until now, but for once in my life, I feel quite justified in being able to lay the blame on someone else. And that someone is none other than your sister Sybil, and the new programme she is trialling here with us._

_It is tough! Tough in a way that makes officer training look like a Sunday picnic. For a lad like myself who was never a sportsman, it is particularly so. Evelyn is coping far better: he says it is like the athletics training he did at Eton. Did you know he held records for both steeplechase and the mile when he was there?_

_The rather lame excuse I must give for my lack of correspondence is exhaustion. I've spent a lot of time sleeping when not being yelled at by your darling sister and told to lift an eight-pound medicine ball above my head another ten more times._

_When we dare to complain she gaily tells us it's either going to cure us or kill us. Right now we've decided we're all heading for the latter. But joking aside, I do think it's going to be very good. The chap she is working with to develop the programme is involved in coaching the national athletics team, so between his experience and her research, we do feel we're in the best hands. And it's certainly better than the dull exercises we were made to do before._

_Mother reports that the last few weeks at the hospital have been a lot quieter, and I can tell that it has been a relief for her. She has been very tired of late, and I do hope that this talk of an end to the war does eventuate, and soon. I'd really like to see her able to take a proper break from it all. She works far too hard!_

_Evelyn and I are continuing to explore what else we might do to support the returned soldiers out of work in Downton, and one thing Evelyn ha__s got us doing is promoting that roll scheme that Henry Rothband has developed with the local businesses. It's basically about getting employers to provide jobs for wounded men. Evelyn's started supporting the lobbying effort going on at the political level too, to get the scheme made national. He's using his father's contacts in Westminster. We can't do too much, of course, but every little bit helps, and we've got Molesley organised. He's already helping out some of the lads when they need to write letters to seek work._

_Eddie is in discussions with his old law firm about returning there when he finishes the rehabilitation programme, and so far so good. I really hope it works out for him, as he is an excellent litigator._

_Alex wrote me last week. Things are still tough at the front with the fighting, although he reports that there are some promising signs: on two occasions recently they had Germans surrender on them unexpectedly early in the battles. _

_I'm never sure whether there is a God Mary, but just in case there is, I pray every day for God to see Alex safely return. Thinking constantly of him as I do, it makes me realise what a trial these long years of war are for a soldier's family and friends: that awful, ongoing uncertainty as to whether a friend or a loved one is safe. I don't know how you have all done it for so long!_

_It seems very quiet here at Downton without you. I miss our visits to the lake. I miss hearing about your work at the hospital. I keep thinking of things I'd like to tell you when you walk in, and then I realise you're in London. And most of all, my darling, I am looking forward to when I might hold you and kiss you again._

_Yours truly,_

_Matthew_

0-0-0-0-0-0

On the Thursday of the following week, Matthew helped out again with the soldier's luncheon at Crawley House. He was pleased when he saw Private Connell arrive, as he had happened upon an advertisement for an apprentice tailor in the window of the shop opposite the Harvell and Carter office when he had been in Ripon on Monday. Charlie Connell had immediately come to mind.

"Good afternoon, Private," he greeted him when he lined up for his bread, "I've got an advertisement for a job you might want to see."

Private Connell raised his eyebrows. "I'll look forward to hearing about it, Captain." He paused and looked at Matthew closely. "And how are you, Sir? If you don't mind me saying, you look a bit tired."

Matthew's lips twitched. "I'll tell you why in a minute. As long as you promise not to laugh."

At that, the young man raised his eyebrows once more, and he said wryly, "I might not be able to promise that, Sir, depending on what it is!"

Matthew smirked. "Away with you! We'll talk in a minute," and grinning widely, Private Connell limped off with his meal.

After the last person had been served, Matthew wheeled himself over to Private Connell's table and drew up beside him. He took a notice out of his coat pocket, unfolded it and placed it on the table.

"This tailor in Ripon is looking for an apprentice. I wondered if you would be interested. You seem to have most of what he's looking for."

Private Connell scanned the simple advertisement, and Matthew could see him mouthing the words silently as he read it through.

"What do you think?" Matthew said at last.

"Well," he said slowly. "I know I could do what he wants. And I have me Dad's gear to use. But Sir..." he paused.

"What is it, Private?"

"I've never had to do this before. You know, write a letter and that."

Matthew was silent for a moment. Then he said thoughtfully, "Well imagine for a moment I'm the tailor. What would you tell me about what you can do?"

Private Connell shrugged. "Well, that I know how to measure and cut cloth, how to follow a pattern, how to measure a man for his suit, you know, I'd say things like that."

"That sounds pretty good to me," Matthew said encouragingly. "And what about yourself? Do you consider yourself a hard worker?"

Private Connell snorted. "Of course! Me Dad always looked down on shirkers. And besides, I've been in that bloody war. If that wasn't hard, well…" He blushed. "Sorry, Sir, I forgot meself. Sorry for swearing."

His comments gave Matthew an idea. "Private Connell," he asked as delicately as he could, knowing what he wanted to ask was a risky question in war, "is your commanding officer contactable?"

"Our Sergeant, Sir? As a matter of fact, he is. He's back here working for the Army. Some sort of stores job in York."

Matthew was silently relieved. At least that was someone alive who could vouch for the man and his soldier experience. "Good. How about you contact him, then, and ask him to provide you with a reference?"

"Oh! I wouldn't have thought to do that," Private Connell replied.

"No. But you are right. You worked bloody hard over there. And a reference will show that to a future employer. And of course, you must also contact Mr Drewe. A reference from him will help too," Matthew added.

"But Sir," Private Connell was frowning, "neither of them are tailors. How do I prove I have the skills?"

"You tell me," Matthew sat back and tucked his hands behind his head.

Private Connell chewed his lip for a while, and then he ventured "Guess if he does want to see me after I write, I could take a suit and shirt with me. And, maybe I offer to do something on the spot. Like cutting or stitching."

"That's the story," Matthew said encouragingly. "Just one more suggestion. Wear a suit. That you've made. Turn up looking like a tailor."

Private Connell grinned. "You know if you hadn't mentioned that, I probably wouldn't have thought to do it! Too many years a farm hand!" he shook his head. Matthew smiled, pleased to see him building some confidence. He stretched gingerly, tiredness starting to overtake him.

Private Connell noticed, and he raised his eyebrows. "Sir, if you don't mind, can I ask you a question now?"

"About why I'm so tired? I'll tell you," Matthew began. He told him about the new programme, and what they were doing, and how Sister Crawley was proving a harder taskmaster than any of the commanding officers he had served under during the war.

"Sorry, Sir, but that really is quite funny, a young Sister giving you officers such a hard time!" They laughed about it for a few minutes, and then Matthew saw Molesley beginning to clear away the plates, and he remembered Private Connell's comment about never having written a letter for a job before.

"And Private Connell, just getting back to you writing that letter, here's the man to give you a few tips when you're ready," he said nodding his head towards Molesley.

He signalled to him, and Molesley came over, wiping his hands on a towel.

"Yes Captain Crawley, how may I help?" Molesley said politely. Matthew introduced them to each other and then left them to it. There were a few other soldiers he wanted to catch up with before the luncheon drew to a close.


	22. Chapter 22

_October 3, 1918_

_My Dearest Matthew,_

_I am a little melancholy today. I miss you so very much and I am feeling quite homesick. Oh how I wish I could see you, and kiss you. I would feel so very much better! You may have heard already from Sybil or Edith, but Aunt Rosamund's injury is worse than first thought. I had been a little suspicious as the swelling had not subsided at all and I had called the Doctor back to see her. He became concerned and insisted on an x-ray, and this confirmed the worst news: it is well and truly broken. It has now been properly set, but it means a far longer period of immobility for her, which means I will need to remain here and care for her, the Doctor expects, for at least a further two months!_

_A small mercy for me is that she is a lot less disagreeable: I suspect the improvement in her mood is because the pain is a lot less now with the ankle properly supported. I have hired her a wheelchair so that I can take her out and keep her occupied._

_I had a letter from Shrimpie yesterday, and he and Susan are sending their sixteen-year old daughter Rose down for a few weeks. He didn't say, but I suspect the unwritten reason is that he and Susan need some time to sort things between themselves. I initially thought the timing was very poor, but I find I am already looking forward to having another person in the house, both for my sake and Aunt Rosamund's._

_The Painswick household runs very efficiently, but it lacks the friendliness that we have at Downton. Aunt Rosamund's lady's maid, Josephine, is taking care of me, and whilst a polite young thing, she is not the friend and confidante that I have in Anna._

_Mead, the Butler is a dour gentleman, and he says very little. He always looks as though he has just arrived back from a funeral. Oh how I miss Carson and his cheer! Burns, the driver is a little less frosty, and he has a good sense of humour, which believe me, both of us have needed when helping Aunt Rosamund in and out of the car of late._

_I was so pleased to get your letter and hear your news, and news of Evelyn and Eddie. I do miss you all, and the camaraderie. I was intrigued to hear about Sybil. I can't say I would ever have imagined her standing over anyone and yelling! I will look forward very much to seeing her in action with my own eyes when I get back!_

_And I'm very interested to hear what you are doing for the soldiers. It is very sobering just how many injured soldiers are about, clearly out of work on the streets of London, and what I find so disturbing is how everyone else just seems to want to pretend they are not there. I don't like what that says about us as a nation. I don't like it at all._

_How is Anna? Do you know how the work she has been helping Mr Murray with is going? I know they thought they might have finally got some evidence that could overturn the conviction. If you are able to report to me about it, I would greatly appreciate it. I really hope Anna can have her John back in time for Christmas. Regretfully, I must once more sign off. I've just heard Aunt Rosamund's bell, and as I know you understand she's not one to be kept waiting!_

_With all my love_

_Mary_

0-0-0-0-0-0

Matthew finished reading Mary's letter and sat quietly for a while looking out the window. Oh God, how he missed her. And now she would be away for even longer. He sighed, observing darkly that the rain beating outside at the windows was a perfect match for his mood.

"Captain Crawley," he heard a voice call, and he looked around and saw Sergeant Barrow crossing the room.

"Weather getting you down, Sir?" Sergeant Barrow asked, sensing his low mood.

"Wish it was just that," Matthew sighed.

"Hmm," Sergeant Barrow replied. "Well I've had some news from Sid I thought you might want to hear," and he smiled, pulling a chair up beside Matthew.

"Oh? Matthew looked up, the Sergeant's smile immediately making him feel a little better.

"Miss Burton is now working for a lady, and turns out she's a well-known suffragette!" he began. "A Mrs Ayrton-Gould apparently. Sid says she can't believe the contrast with Sir Richard – from a bullying employer to one who treats her with a great deal of respect. And she earns more. There's a library she's allowed to use, and she gets to do the minutes for all sorts of interesting political meetings. A success story, if there ever was one, Sir."

"Well, that does cheer me, Sergeant! A small bit of good out of the whole nasty affair." Matthew smiled. "And I've other news for you too. Just you, mind," he lowered his voice, "Eddie and me have almost finished assembling the dossier of evidence on the other matter. Carlisle isn't going to know what's hit him when the Military Intelligence Service come visiting."

"Hmm," Sergeant Barrow gave a slow nod. "Have you given Miss Burton a heads up? That's the matter that terrifies her the most."

"Charles has. He's kept meeting with her regularly, and he will keep her informed of everything until this risky period is over."

They sat in silence for a while looking out at the rain and then Matthew said, "Sergeant Barrow, what are your plans when the war finishes and this place closes up?"

Sergeant Barrow gave a sigh. "I'm not too sure, Sir. I don't have the education to continue in a full medical role. I had considered retraining as an ambulance officer, but I wouldn't manage the study that's required. Service is what I'm trained in first and foremost. But I'm not sure if Mr Carson would have me back," he grimaced. "Bit of history there, Sir."

"I'll be looking for a Valet once I am discharged from here," Matthew said unexpectedly. "Would a position working for me be of interest? If I suggested you, Carson wouldn't have too much choice but to agree."

"But Sir, what about Mr Molesley?" Sergeant Barrow said in surprise.

"Mr Molesley is an excellent Butler. I have no wish to see him leave my mother's employ," Matthew replied.

"And besides, I need a level of care from a Valet beyond what a Valet would normally expect to provide. Your experience with the Army Medical Corps these past years well qualify you to deliver that."

"It is a very attractive offer Sir," Sergeant Barrow's voice was a little hesitant, "although I had been thinking of looking for a position a bit closer to York," his face reddened suddenly.

_Oh,_ Matthew thought. _Is the rumour true that Thomas has a lover?_ He remembered Mrs Hughes making some offhand comment about Thomas visiting a cousin in York that had made him wonder at the time: he knew for a fact from their conversations at the Front that Thomas had no family. _Hmm._

"There are a few conditions I'd have in taking on a Valet, of course," Matthew continued.

"Oh?" Sergeant Barrow looked at him quizzically

"First and foremost, I'd expect my Valet to have a weekend. I get one. So would they. From Friday night to Sunday night I would not expect to see them.

"Second, my Valet would continue to receive the same pay they would have if they were working a six and a half day week.

"Third, I would expect complete discretion and loyalty from my Valet. In expecting this, my Valet could also be guaranteed complete discretion and loyalty in return," he said looking steadily at Sergeant Barrow.

Thomas couldn't believe was he was hearing. A lump formed in his throat. _The Captain knows. He knows I have a lover. He's offering me a job that would let me see him every single weekend. For the whole weekend. And he wouldn't say a word._ He swallowed.

"Sir, that, that is an extremely generous offer!" his voice shook a little. "But Sir, I must ask… what is the catch? There must be a catch."

It took quite a bit of self-control for Matthew to stop himself from laughing. _Poor Thomas_ he thought. _Hard wired to be suspicious. What a life he's had, not being able to trust!_

He smiled and said simply, "There is no catch Sergeant. Just the expectation you'll take very good care of me, and be courteous and discreet in respect of all the other family and staff, no matter who they may be."

Sergeant Barrow smiled then, a genuine smile. "In that case, Sir, I would be honoured to be your Valet once all of this is over," and he extended his hand. Matthew shook it and smiled back. "It's a deal then, Sergeant."

0-0-0-0-0-0-

_October 15, 1918_

_My darling Mary,_

_It is unfortunate news indeed about Aunt Rosamund. I hope she comes to see how lucky she is, however, having you there, to so expertly care for her! I miss you too. I think of when we kissed, and how sweet you tasted. Your beautiful smile. And holding you close. Two months seems far too long a time for us to be apart. But, as the creatures of duty that both of us, unfortunately, seemed destined to be, we must weather it._

_In a surprise to myself just this last week, I have started to look forward to our physical therapy sessions. Perhaps I am finally used to the intensity. I am certainly less tired. And I am appreciating the clarity of mind I feel after each session. I never knew exercise could do that. It's making the reading I am still doing to catch up on the law so very much easier._

_The nicest times are when we can be out of doors, which is whenever it is still and dry. This morning was particularly nice: the sky was steel grey, and the air smelled of autumn, that lovely rich smell of the fallen leaves. We were all warm from the exercise, but the air was so cold we could see our breath. The feeling of cold, fresh air against warm skin whilst we were doing our repetitions was a delight._

_I managed to catch up with Anna and George Murray this week, as he was keen on a second opinion about one of the lines of evidence they have been researching. There is good news: Anna has located and met with a former friend of Vera Bates, and she pretty much told Anna to her face that Vera had planned her own suicide. We just need this person to say it all again to Mr Murray in a formal affidavit, and we could see Bates finally set free._

_I do hope you can take some cheer from all this news, and I am glad you will soon have the company of young Rose to provide some light relief to the solemnity of the Painswick household! Wishing I could be there with you,_

_Yours truly,_

_Matthew_

0-0-0-0-0-0

Six weeks into the programme, Sybil announced that it was time for each of them to set some new goals. These, she said, had to be goals that took them out of their comfort zone, and that would help them in some way with their return to civilian life. She wouldn't be drawn on what they might consider: that, she said, was up to them.

A group of them talked it over at lunch. Matthew was at a loss as to what to choose, until one of the other officers, Lieutenant Smith, gave him an idea.

"I don't know about you chaps, but I'd like nothing better than to get strong enough to get myself down to the Grantham Arms and back. It does my head in not being able to have a pint with the lads! Perhaps I'll make that my goal," said the Lieutenant.

"Just what is your goal Alfred?" drawled Evelyn. "The getting there or the pint? If it's the pint I'm sure a few of us could think of an easier way to organise for that!" he said to general hilarity.

"Are you sure she'll agree?" one of the other officers asked.

"Don't see why not!" answered Edward. She made it pretty clear that what the goals were was up to us. If getting to the pub under your own steam is a signal of returning to civilian life, then why not?"

In the end, there were three of them to which mastering the half-mile to the village and then back again was the goal. Alfred, Roy and Matthew. Roy was back on his feet but only just, and Alfred was an amputee. Two weeks of endurance sessions and strength training later with a still grey day upon them, they gave it a go. The trip in was straightforward, and all of them managed quite well. Matthew, who had a genuine errand to run, left Alfred and Roy at the public house and made his way down the street to the post office. It was busy when he entered. He waited a few minutes until Mrs Bennett had finished serving, and then wheeled himself up to the desk.

She looked up, surprised to see him. Someone she knew she should know, but couldn't place. And then she remembered.

"Good afternoon, Captain Crawley, she said a little cautiously. "How may I help?"

"Good afternoon Mrs Bennett. I was expecting a parcel from Harvell and Carter three days ago and it still hasn't arrived. I was wondering if you could investigate what may have happened to it. Confidential legal documents," he said by way of explanation.

"I wonder why Mr Carson didn't ask about it when he was in this morning. Could have saved you the trouble!" she said looking at him oddly.

Despite the presence of the hospital in the village, and the convalescent home nearby, she rarely saw a man in a wheelchair in her post office, and she was surprised that someone with so many servants at his beck and call, namely Matthew Crawley, Viscount in all but name, was choosing to make this particular errand for himself.

"Mr Carson and I missed each other, and the matter is somewhat urgent," Matthew replied a little stiffly.

"I see, well let me find the right form and we'll try and sort this out for you," she said, her face colouring slightly.

Matthew sighed and shut his eyes for a moment. Why were normal, everyday interactions not easy anymore? He knew why. And he heard his father's words spoken out loud by his mother _"It's your responsibility to make others feel comfortable."_ _Matthew, just get over yourself_ he muttered silently.

Mrs Bennett had disappeared behind the counter to find the necessary form. Locating it finally, she placed it on the desk, took up her fountain pen and looked across the counter once more at Matthew.

"Captain Crawley, the full sender details please," she began. After the form was filled in, she looked at him awkwardly once more, peering at his uniform insignia as if she wanted to ask him something. It was then Matthew remembered she had had a son in the North Riding Volunteers.

"Mrs Bennett, how is your son?" he enquired solicitously, always nervous asking about a soldier in case they hadn't returned.

"Ah, Timothy, yes, he's... well. He has been back four months now. A minor injury from which he's now recovered," she said. The smile on her lips didn't reach her eyes. _What was it? Sadness? Worry?_ Matthew thought.

"Was he your regiment?" she asked.

"No. I was with the Duke of Manchester's Own. That's where I'm from," he explained. "Is he… back working?" he asked her. Another difficult question to ask about a returned serviceman. "Yes. He just started back at work at the motor repair shop in Ripon," she said, the smile back on her lips but the eyes still… something else.

"I'm pleased to hear he has his position back," Matthew said. "There seem far too many about who haven't been that lucky," he said shaking his head. "My firm's office is based there too, so I'll keep an eye out for him when I'm out and about."

"You're working?" Mrs Bennett said, and this time there was no mistaking her surprise.

"A little. It'll be a while before I'm back to full hours. He smiled at her briefly. "But now I really must be going. Please offer Timothy my regards when you see him," he said kindly.

"I'll do that Captain Crawley. And Sir, it is good to see you back on your..." she stopped and blushed deeply. "My apologies. I..." she said visibly flustered.

Matthew laughed then, and he could see the relief on her face. "Yes, I am back on my feet figuratively," he said smiling at her. "Just not quite literally. It's nice to see you again Mrs Bennett," and she gave him a genuine smile this time before a cough from an incoming customer summoned her attention back to the counter.

The cloying, smoky warmth of the public house assaulted Matthew's senses as he made his way into the gloom of the Grantham Arms, the odd reaction of Mrs Bennett when talking of her son still playing on his mind. He half wondered if the lad was suffering from shellshock. That always sent the mothers over the edge.

He looked around, momentarily confused by the internal geography of the room, and finally spotted Roy and Alfred ensconced at a table under the window. Roy was drawing on his cigarette. When he saw Matthew propelling himself across to them he exhaled a perfect smoke ring in his direction.

"The Captain returns!" he said lazily. Matthew wondered a little amusedly just how many drinks he'd already consumed. Roy was like a kid in a lolly shop. _Or more accurately, like an inmate out of jail for the day_ he thought, away from the strict order and routines of the convalescent home.

"Enlighten me on the world's problems you've solved whilst I've been away," he said drawing up to the small table. Alfred pushed a tankard and the half-full beer jug towards him.

"Have a swig of that," he said comfortably. "It's not a bad drop when it's been such a long time since the last."

Matthew initially demurred, but then he relented and accepted the vessel. Beer was not really his drink, but on this fuggy, grey afternoon it held a certain attraction.

"We haven't solved much. The beer has put paid to that. But we're both wondering what next," Alfred said giving him a thoughtful look. "How about you Matthew?"

"My work back with my old law firm is the only thing certain for me at this stage," Matthew said reflectively. "But I'm all right with that. For now. And how about you?"

"I'm not sure. I'm hoping to return to the bank when I am discharged next month. I've got an interview lined up." He was silent a moment, and then he gave a sigh. "Not sure how the bank is going to cope with this, however," Alfred said gesturing his missing lower legs.

"Very well if they know what's good for them," Matthew said severely. "It's your head that matters when it comes to figures, not your legs."

"You and I know that Matthew, but will they?" and Matthew picked up the slightest uncertainty in the man's tone. Matthew gave him an earnest look.

"Alfred, don't give them a choice. If you come across confident they'll be confident. Go in there with the expectation that of course, they'll want you back. And while you're at it, ask for what you need to be able to operate comfortably there."

"I thought what our King had in mind was that the lot of all us wounded is to suffer in some sort of virtuous silence," Alfred said derisively.

"Really?" Matthew said in a dangerous tone. "The war is still not over, and it has already wounded more than one and a half million men. Tens of thousands of those severely. If our dear King thinks that many men will take silently no chance to dignify themselves with employment, with the further indignity of a paltry pension then he's got another thing coming!

"And unfortunately," he sighed, "We are going to have to be the ones to make the effort. People will want to forget this war as quick as they can when it finishes. If we don't advocate for ourselves, we'll end up doomed to that virtuous silence with only ourselves to blame."

"Strong words from the Captain," Roy gave Matthew a searching look. "And I think you are right. We do have to advocate for ourselves."

He looked at Alfred. "Has he convinced you yet?"

Alfred gave a slow nod. "He's starting to. I'll give it a try," and with that, he smacked his lips and gave them both a brief smile.

Matthew glanced at Roy then, who was now onto another cigarette. "You know my father, who was a doctor, reckoned they weren't the best things to suck on," ventured Matthew, raising his eyebrows at him.

"I'm sure they're not," Roy blew out yet another perfect smoke ring. "But I've been through the horror of a war. Think that gives me an excuse to enjoy as many of these things as I like," he said darkly. "And besides. It was the free smokes at the Front that got me onto these in the first place," he finished with a scowl.

"So what next for you?" Matthew asked, keen to change the subject. Roy was prone to being melancholy.

"Back to the life of a gentleman I guess," he said aimlessly. "Can't say I relish the thought."

"Are you involved in managing your family's estate?" Matthew asked. He'd never asked Roy much about his family.

Roy nodded. "I am. But farming is not a subject in which I have any strong interest. And my father won't let me touch the investment side. Which I'm far more interested in."

"What was your area of study?" Matthew asked, recalling that Roy had once talked of being at Cambridge.

"Mathematics," Roy said, his voice lighting up for the first time.

"Hmm. I would have thought that would well qualify you for assisting your father on the investment side," Matthew said cocking his head at him.

"You don't know my father. An arrogant son of a bitch if ever there was one," Roys' voice was hard and his face fell again. Matthew and Alfred looked at him in surprise. It wasn't like Roy to swear.

"Perhaps it's time you set your own destiny," Alfred said unexpectedly.

"What could you possibly mean?" asked Roy bleakly. "I'm a wounded serviceman. Prone to blanking out and suffering palsy like a dribbling old man. Am I not supposed to accept my lot and return home to the dull and paltry task of running a handful of small sheep farms?"

"Only if you determine it so," said Alfred firmly. "Sounds like your Papa keeps you under his little finger. How about a life where you don't have to see Papa very often?"

Roy looked at him questioningly.

Alfred considered him for a minute and leant back.

"How about you come with me to London and talk with my colleagues at the bank when I go up there next month? They're looking for men with skills in figures. Bet they'll be keen. Especially someone with your level of education. That's a bit rare."

"Me? Work?" Roy looked at them both, incredulous.

"Well… " Matthew began. "I am. Despite the Earldom coming to me when Robert decides to fall from his perch."

"And I will have to. Of course, because I need to... unlike you both.." Alfred gave a smirk. "But there is a certain dignity in being a working man, Roy. I have a strong sense it might actually appeal to you."

"It couldn't work, you know," he said looking away from them both. "What if I had a turn?"

"Plenty more men will have that problem," Matthew said. "Thousands in fact. Is that really a reason not to at least have a go?"

"And besides. The sort of thing you'd be good at, tends to be the backroom," Alfred added in an attempt to be reassuring. "You could always plead eccentricity. Mathematicians tend to get away with that." He gave Roy a large wink.

"Maybe it is worth a shot. I supposed I've got nothing to lose." He looked at them thoughtfully, his face starting to look a little brighter. "I almost believe you about the work thing. One thing I have liked about the godforsaken Army these past four years has been that routine… the purpose." He pondered his empty tankard for a few moments, and then looked across at Alfred.

"Tell me a bit more about this bank Alfred. But before that, How about another round? I'm starting to feel unusually cheered." He gave them a grin, hauled himself to his feet, and limped across to the bar.

Some time later, Matthew was aware his senses were feeling distinctly dulled. He wondered vaguely how on earth they were going to get home when he saw Branson walk into the pub. He hailed him from across the room.

Branson sauntered over to them grinning. "Well this is a merry band!" he said surveying the empty jugs and tankards.

"Do you have the car by chance?" Matthew asked him with a sheepish grin. "We're…"

"Actually I don't," he said. He surveyed the three of them for a minute and then said "Tell you what, happy to walk back with you all. If things turn to custard I could run up and get the motor and come back for you."

"Hmm. Sounds like a plan," Alfred said, surveying his pocket watch. "Good God, is that really the time?"

Branson chuckled. "It is indeed. Just how long have you all been here?"

"Since after lunch," Roy drawled.

"Would you like a drink before we head off?" Matthew offered.

Branson smiled. "I'd love one, but I have a strong sense that if I don't go with you now you will all end up spending the night here... and I suspect there will be a Sister or two up at the home who will have a few words to say about that!"

"Oh dear, back to jail," Roy said resignedly. "You're right of course. Let's get going. But here's something to make sure you get the drink you'll more than deserve a bit later!" and he pressed a 10 shilling note into Branson's hand.

"You don't have to do that," Branson said, embarrassed.

"He does. Really." Matthew said. "Get yourself a meal too, Branson when you come back. You're a good friend."

"Well, if you all insist," he replied looking pleased.

They set off, and made their way slowly back towards the Abbey, the light fading as they went.

The glow from Roy's cigarette and the murmured conversation floating back to them gave an odd sense of comfort as night descended and Matthew and Branson proceeded together in silence.

With his friends, a safe distance ahead, Matthew voiced the question he had wanted to ask Branson for some months now, emboldened, no doubt, by the ale consumed over the course of the afternoon.

"Branson. You and Sybil. Friends? Or a little more?"

Branson slowed. _He knows,_ he thought. _I can't deny it. Not to him!_ No. Matthew Crawley was not a man he would ever lie to. Matthew heard him sigh in the half darkness. Finally, he muttered, "If you must know... the latter."

"Hmm," said Matthew thoughtfully. "She's a pretty special young woman," he ventured.

"And you expect that to be a surprise to me?" Branson shot back, a defensive note in his voice.

Matthew frowned. "Not at all. And please know I hold no judgement over your interest in her, 'beyond just friends.'"

"So you will not betray my confidence?" Branson said, his tone a mix of surprise and disbelief.

"No. It is your business. Yours and Sybil's." Matthew said firmly. "Besides. I think you suit each other."

"Am I hearing you right?" Branson turned to him, with a sceptical look.

"You are. You are a good man. She is a good woman. You are both intelligent. And from what I've seen, you are both ambitious. It could be the makings of a very good match."

"You shouldn't be saying this to me, you know. I mean... you're one of them." Branson said.

"Not yet. I'm merely a middle-class lawyer of uncertain health, with a claim to a title I'll likely only hold for my own lifetime, my injury having put paid to any likelihood of producing an heir," Matthew said matter-of-factly.

"You shouldn't talk like that, you know," Branson countered.

"Why not? It's the truth isn't it?" Matthew challenged.

"Oh, I don't know. I think you're a lot more of a man than that. What I see anyway.

"And besides, I can't see Lord Grantham being thrilled if he was here to overhear what you said to me of a future with Lady Sybil."

"But he's not here. And furthermore, there are certain topics on which Cousin Robert and I will never agree. And the question of marriage and what makes a marriage right and wrong where social class is concerned is definitely one of them."

Matthew slowed, and then stopped, and shook his arms.

"You all right?" Branson said sounding concerned.

"Tired is all. Alfred and Roy are clearly made of stronger stuff!"

"They weren't half dead like you were merely a handful of months back," Branson said. "You're doing amazingly all things considered! How about I push you from here?"

"Thank you," replied Matthew with a sigh. He began to rub his arms as Branson took the handles of his chair and they resumed their progress.

"Can I ask what you and Sybil are going to do?" he asked "I can say all I like, but you have the spectre of Robert, and of course Cora, Violet… and everyone else to contend with."

"We're going to wait," Branson replied. "Sybil doesn't want to do anything, or say anything for that matter until the war is over. And I need to get myself into a decent career if I'm going to provide for her. Not possible to raise a family on a Chauffeur's wage, at least not in any half decent fashion!"

"What are you interested in?" Matthew asked, turning to look at him.

"Journalism. I've been doing a correspondence course through the working man's college in York. If I can get Robert to give me permission, I hope to be able to start writing some news articles and getting them published. Get a bit of experience so finding permanent work will be easier in a while."

"Robert will probably be quite supportive of that," Matthew said thoughtfully.

"I hope so. He's very generous letting me use his library and all," Branson answered.

"I guess time will tell whether he's as open minded on a union between you and his daughter as he is for the betterment of the working classes through education and training!" Matthew frowned. "I can't pretend it will be easy for you, or for her by any means."

"On that point you are right," Branson answered. "But just because something isn't easy doesn't mean it's not worth doing."

And Matthew had to agree with that.


	23. Chapter 23

On Sunday morning, after Church, Rose announced that she wished to go out for a walk, as it was a rare fine day. Josephine agreed to chaperone her, and after Mary had seen her off, checking she was properly wrapped against the chilly November weather, she joined her Aunt for tea and cake in the morning room, where they spent a convivial few minutes discussing the church service. Mary was pleased to have her Aunt to herself: a matter had arisen that she wished to confront.

"I'm surprised at you Aunt Rosamund," Mary began, setting down her empty teacup. "The gentlemen you invited to dinner last night. A little on the old side for young Rose aren't they?" she said, raising her eyebrows and giving her Aunt a hard stare.

Aunt Rosamund started, and then huffed, "Oh, for goodness sake, Mary, don't pretend you are not perfectly aware of why I invited Charles Blake and Lord Gillingham here for dinner. They were hardly here for young Rose's benefit!"

"Aunt Rosamund, if you have invited those gentlemen for my benefit, then you are wasting your time, and theirs," Mary rolled her eyes. "Save the handsome naval officers for some other relatives. How about those poor nieces of yours? Aren't they of age, and looking for financial security and a position safely away from the sorry mess their father has caused?"

"Mary. My nieces, both of whom are considerably younger than you, are not the priority. They have a lot more time on their side!

"Whilst there is no doubt just how admirable your contribution to the war effort has been, you cannot afford to make your work your only focus," Aunt Rosamund implored her. "You must make an effort to find a suitable match whilst you are still considered a young woman!"

Mary raised her eyebrows quizzically. "And what has made you think work has been my only focus, Aunt Rosamund?"

"Your mother and I talk, Mary," she replied. "She has told me just how very busy you have been of late, and she asked that whilst you were here, I arrange a few opportunities for you to meet some suitable gentlemen.

"She has been concerned at how few social opportunities you are being afforded at your own home with the household turned upside down by the Army Medical Corps."

Mary gave a bitter laugh. "I see my dear mother has not seen fit to mention Matthew." She looked away out of the window.

"Matthew?" Aunt Rosamund said in surprise.

"Yes. Matthew," Mary turned back and looked at her Aunt, lifting her chin defiantly.

"My dear. Are you telling me you are in love with Matthew Crawley, again?" she asked intently.

Mary nodded, her face softening into a smile. "I am. And for your information, I don't think I have ever stopped loving him."

"And is he in love with you?" she persisted.

"I think so, well I know so, but whether that means he will ask for my hand sooner or later, well…" and Mary shrugged. "I am prepared to wait, in any case."

"Oh, my dear," Aunt Rosamund lifted her hands up and dropped them into her lap, a far away look on her face.

Mary stiffened, bracing herself for the lecture she expected was coming. "Don't try and dissuade me as you did once in the past, Aunt Rosamund," she said tightly.

"Oh no, I…" began Aunt Rosamund, but Mary interrupted.

"If you must know, Aunt Rosamund," she said firmly, "To this day I regret that I listened to you all those years ago when you suggested I delay answering Matthew's marriage proposal and that I not tell him about Kamal!

"If I had been brave enough, and gone with my heart, I would have been married by now, and we would, I very much hope, have already had a child!" her eyes were bright with unexpected tears.

Aunt Rosamund was looking at her, her face pained. She opened and shut her mouth.

Mary took a deep breath and steadied herself. "And now that cannot be. But what can be, is that we can be together. If he decides he wants to marry me with all that he is facing. And I will wait, for as long as it takes," she said, her face again resolute.

They were silent a while, and then Rosamund spoke.

"If you must know, Mary, I have come to see in these last few years that I was wrong," she sounded genuinely regretful. "Very wrong indeed. I hadn't recognised that what you had with Matthew was a great love. It is not common among our sort of people." She paused and clasped and unclasped her hands, and then she said added, "You will not hear me say this very often. But you deserve me saying it now. I'm sorry I advised you as I did, Mary. I truly am."

"Do you really mean that?" Mary said, in surprise.

"I do. And if, as you so describe, you and Matthew have now rediscovered this great love, then neither I nor anyone else has any business standing in the way."

Mary smiled at her Aunt. "Thank you for that. I am pleased to have at least one female relative on my side," she gave an audible sigh. "I fear that Mama is unlikely to be quite so supportive."

"You may well be right," Rosamund answered. "The path you are choosing is not easy, my dear, and I suspect your mother sees that. You will need to be patient with her."

"I think whether it is easy or not depends entirely on how one sees things," Mary said thoughtfully.

"Matthew gives me so much, in a way no other man ever has. Even when he has had his darkest moments it's never felt hard to be with him."

Aunt Rosamund smiled. "Then I wish you all the very best, my dear. And let us hope a proposal is not long in the making."

0-0-0-0-0-0

Matthew was in the village with his mother, after lunching with her at Crawley House, when they ran into Private Connell outside the post office.

"Good afternoon, Captain Crawley," he said with his customary salute.

Matthew saluted back. "Good afternoon, Private Connell," Matthew smiled at the young man. "May I introduce my mother, Mrs Isobel Crawley."

"A pleasure to meet you, Mrs Crawley," Charlie replied tipping his hat.

"Mr Molesley told me yesterday that you had got an interview with Mr Moore, the tailor in Ripon," Matthew said. "How was it?"

"It went well, as in I could do everything he asked me to, and I know he liked my handiwork because he smiled when I showed him a waistcoat I'd made, but…" he sighed and his face dropped a little. "He was a bit shifty all the same. I don't know," he frowned and paused. "Just a feeling Sir."

"I guess you'll just have to wait and see," said Matthew reassuringly. "Did he say when he would let you know?"

"Not exactly. I hope it won't be too long. Don't want to be left hanging."

"Of course not," Matthew replied. "And by the way, a few of us are getting together at the Grantham Arms next Tuesday evening to talk about setting up a returned soldier's Association for Downton. We'll be starting at seven o'clock. All soldiers are welcome if you would like to join us."

"An Association?" Private Connell said thoughtfully. "Could be a good idea that. Give us a bit more say in things! Hmm. I'm seeing a few fellow's later on, today and I could let them know. Anything, in particular, I should say?"

Matthew quickly explained the ideas that he and Evelyn had been discussing, making it clear that they were just a start: everyone attending would be able to put ideas forward, at which Charlie immediately nodded his approval. He promised to do what he could in getting men to attend and then made to go. "Mrs Crawley, it's been a pleasure," he tipped his cap, and with a farewell and another salute to Matthew, he limped slowly off.

"I take it he's one of the soldiers you and Molesley have been giving some assistance," Isobel said as they made their way back to Crawley House.

"He is. A nice young chap. He desperately needs that job. He and his mother are really struggling," Matthew said frowning.

"Are you familiar with the tailor he's applied to?" asked Isobel.

"Only that it's opposite Harvell and Carter," Matthew replied.

"Hmm," Isobel thought for a moment, and then she glanced down at her son with a slightly mischievous smile. "Matthew, I've got an idea. Of the sort that Violet would usually come up with. That might just help Private Connell."

Matthew smirked. "Or that might go horribly pear shaped, which as we both know, some of Violet's schemes have!"

"With what I'm thinking, in this case, my dear, its success or failure will rest entirely upon you!" Isobel gave a laugh.

"That could be risky!" Matthew chuckled. "But tell me anyway, Mother," and Isobel explained what she had in mind.

0-0-0-0-0-0

First thing the following Monday morning, Matthew visited the tailors opposite Harvell and Carter in Ripon, taking with him two of his suits that needed altering. A task, which his mother had conveniently reminded him, really did need doing and that he would have to manage himself being currently without a Valet.

_Moore's Fine Tailoring_ read the sign over the door. Branson accompanied him, as the shop had a couple of steps he couldn't negotiate alone.

"Good morning, gentlemen, how may I help?" Mr Moore said looking up from his workbench at the back of the shop and setting down a large pair of shears.

"Good morning, Sir," Matthew extended his hand. "Captain Crawley is the name. The gentleman with me is Mr Branson. I have two suits that need to be altered," and he handed him a package.

"Of course. If you'll follow me we'll get the measuring done in a jiffy. Mr Branson, there's a seat here if you would like to wait," and he motioned a seat next to the front counter.

_He seems pleasant enough_, Matthew thought. And he was professional and no nonsense in how he took the necessary measurements, Matthew's wheelchair making the exercise a little more awkward than it would otherwise be.

A few minutes later, after he had finished writing down Matthew's details at the front counter, Matthew said casually, "I saw that you are advertising for an apprentice. How are you going finding someone?"

Mr Moore sighed. "I've had a few lads through. There was one who could do the work alright, but I'm not sure he's quite the type for this sort of establishment. So I might have to readvertise yet."

"Not quite the type," Matthew said innocently. Branson, on hearing the tone in Matthew' voice, found he had to look away.

"No. Former soldier. He's missing a leg," and Mr Moore had the grace to blush, suddenly realising what he was saying, in front of a wheelchair-bound officer of the British army.

"I see," Matthew said evenly. "And why does having your leg blown off in the war in the service of your country suddenly disqualify you from being 'the right type' for work in a tailoring business, Mr Moore?" He fixed the man with a hard stare.

There was an awkward silence. Branson spoke up.

"Sir," he said reasonably. "The Captain has a point. If the lad can do the job, do the right thing by him. He's been fighting the Hun for God's sake. And besides, won't people look well upon you for supporting one of our returned soldiers?"

"I… well, how's he going to manage, with all the standing about?" Mr Moore blustered.

"Have you heard of a stool, Mr Moore? Surely you can provide him with a stool for his comfort when he is working," Matthew said coolly.

They stared at each other for a long moment, and then Mr Moore looked away and gave a sigh. "You may be right gentlemen. Perhaps the lad deserves a trial."

Matthew nodded. "It is, of course, your decision, Sir." He paused for a moment and then said, "I must be on my way. A good day to you," and he turned his chair around to go.

Branson tipped his hat and followed Matthew to the door.

"How about a cuppa before you go to work," Branson muttered as he guided Matthew's wheelchair carefully down the front steps. "Shall we?" he motioned to the teashop two doors along.

Once inside, they took a table in the corner window and ordered tea and scones. After the waitress had left, they looked at each other and started to laugh. "Honestly, Captain," Branson said eventually, wiping tears from his eyes. "I was really struggling to keep a straight face in that shop when you started laying into him!"

"The cheek!" Matthew said, incredulous. "I couldn't believe what I was hearing!"

"That's people's fear for you," Branson said grimly. "Want to pretend none of this really happened. Out of sight, out of mind."

"Well, that's going to be easy with hundreds of thousands of men with permanent injuries out looking for work," Matthew said sarcastically. They were silent for a moment. "Thank you for what you said, Branson. You came across a lot more reasonable! I just hope I didn't blow it for Charlie," Matthew sighed.

Branson shook his head. "Quite the opposite. I'll be surprised if he dares not take on young Charlie after all that!"

"You think?" Matthew asked.

"Well, he must know you work for the lawyers," Branson mused. "And that law firm's got such a good reputation. And you're a decorated Captain for God's sake. That carries some weight too. He paused and looked across at him. "Besides," he said with a grin, "how will he possibly be able to look at you when you go back for your suits if he doesn't?"

Matthew gave a wry smile. "That's a point. Here's hoping, for Charlie's sake."

0-0-0-0-0-0

"Mary," Aunt Rosamund said tightly. "Did you know about this?" She pushed _The Guardian_ across the breakfast table towards her niece. "Read that. Bottom of page two."

Her hands shaking in nervous anticipation, Mary took the paper and quickly read through the item.

_Well-known newspaper businessman Sir Richard Carlisle was arrested last night on charges of war treason under the Defence of the Realm Act 1914. His arrest follows an investigation by the Military Intelligence Service. Former Daily Mirror war correspondent Kenneth Watson has also been arrested. Owing to the sensitivity of the charges, Inspector Peter Downing of Scotland Yard has refused to reveal any further details. Sir Richard Carlisle and Kenneth Watson have also refused to comment. Statements released by lawyers for the two men say only that they intend to fight the charges. Neither the editor of The Daily Mirror nor the editor of The News of the World, Sir Richard Carlisle's major newspapers, could be reached for comment._

Despite being forewarned of Sir Richard's imminent arrest by a telephone call from Charles Carter the day before, Mary couldn't help but shudder when she read the words, down in black and white. Oh, God. How close she had come to being swept up into this ugly affair. She stood up suddenly and walked across to the window, looking out. She felt thoroughly discomposed.

"My dear," Aunt Rosamund asked again, this time a little more delicately. "This... these accusations, did you know of them?"

Mary nodded. "Only very recently," she said grimly. "And then not much. And of course they were matters about which I could not speak," she shuddered again and began to pace, back and forth.

"Are you all right, my dear?" Aunt Rosamund spoke again. Mary shook her head. She didn't know what she felt. Stained by mere association? Relief she was out of it? Anger at his treachery? Horror at just how close she had been to being swept up in it all? Oh yes. All of that.

Mead arrived and began clearing the breakfast plates away. Aunt Rosamund turned to him. "Mead, would you mind bringing some fresh tea, please. Lady Mary has just had some rather upsetting news. And then leave us a while, will you?"

"Of course m'Lady," Mead gave a bow.

"Mary, my dear. Assist me to the sofa. And then you must sit down too," her Aunt said gently.

Mary helped Rosamund to the sofa under the window and sat down beside her.

For a long time, she could not speak. Finally, she said, her voice almost inaudible, "I thought I was through this. All cried out at what a close shave it was," she shook her head. "But this has brought it all back." She wrung her hands. "How could I have every been so stupid, Aunt Rosamund? He is such a despicable man!"

"My dear," her Aunt said gently. "You didn't know. None of us knew! He had a reputation as a dynamic and successful man. And when you did start to see flaws in his character, you quite rightly took steps to break off with him, difficult as it proved to be.

"You have nothing to be ashamed of in all of this," she added firmly. "Nothing at all!"

"Oh, I do hope you are right," Mary said, her face pensive. "I wish to this day I had never, ever set eyes on him!"

"Is there any risk your name may be brought into all of this?" Rosamund asked.

"There is a risk. But Mr Carter and Matthew have got plans in place should that eventuate which should prevent me from being implicated in any compromising manner," Mary replied.

"What will help in all of this, of course, is that the papers that would be most likely to drag me into this, are the papers affected by this scandal, so that alone will provide me with some protection," she added.

"Well my dear, the other element in your favour in all this, is that the end of the war is imminent," Rosamund observed. "And that news will likely overshadow other stories for the next little while too."

"Oh, Aunt Rosamund! I do hope you are right! I just want to be able to forget this man and this whole sorry period of my life," Mary said sadly.

_10 November 1918_

_My darling Mary,_

_The days are drawing in, and it has been noticeably colder here of late. And with it, I have found my mood darkening. Part of that, of course, is missing you. And part of it is this talk of the end of the war._

_Of course, I should be pleased, even joyous that it is finally to be over, and many people around us are. But I just feel empty and desperately sad. And it is not just me. Calm, steady Evelyn had a moment this week, and even Eddie is quiet._

_I'm up to two half-days a week at the office in Ripon now, and so far, so good. But even there the impact of the war is in our faces. Having no Roger in the office is downright odd: he was the practical joker, the one who always bounced in with a cheery "Morning chaps!" and he is not there. And we are overrun with work and no chance of recruiting others as they are just not about. Thousands of them dead. I hope to God Alex gets through to the end of all this in one piece: if he does I'm going to ask him to join us._

_I can't help thinking if it was really worth it. And why have so many had to die and so many, many others get hurt. Mother says not to dwell on it, but it is hard not to._

_I am sorry my darling for writing such a melancholy letter. I do have one positive item of news to share: we held our first meeting to see if there was interest in a returned servicemen's Association for Downton, and thirty-eight soldiers turned up. We had no trouble filling the Committee positions, and top of the rather long list of ideas put forward was getting wounded men back to work. Knowing the lads are going to swing in behind and help with that is greatly cheering._

_And of course receiving your letters always cheers me no end. Let's hope it is not long now before we can be together again, and I can hold you in my arms and kiss you._

_With all my love,_

_Matthew_

0-0-0-0-0-0

_11 November 1918_

_Dearest Matthew,_

_Today has been a day of two halves. A joyous and delightful half, and then a sad and upsetting half. I will do my best to describe it but do forgive me if my words and expressions are a little clumsy._

_The joyous half. For the very first time in these difficult weeks being away from you, I was actually pleased to be in London. Although it would have been many times more enjoyable if you had been here too!_

_The Armistice began like any other day. Dull, grey, people hurrying about their business. And then we gathered to hear the announcement. And after that, things just seemed to happen. The streets began to fill. People streamed out of buildings. And then there was music and dancing, and shouting and laughing. It was so terribly exciting._

_Rose and I went out into it, and we found ourselves swept along by a happy crowd. We were adopted by a group of young officers and we must have danced with them for a good hour or so!_

_Later, Aunt Rosamund booked us for dinner and the restaurant was full of happy people. And again we found ourselves dancing, not because there was a dance floor or anything, but just because everyone wanted to, and somehow needed to. And dance we did until we were all positively giddy! It was a wonderful release and everyone was just so very joyful and relieved that this terrible war is finally over._

_And now, in this second half of this very odd day, my mood is quite certainly reversed. My joy has evaporated, and I am feeling deeply melancholy. All I can think about is the dead men, and those that have been wounded so terribly – the many, many men we have had through the hospital. Of what you had to go through in your long fight to live! How I wish you were here with me! I need your arms around me because right now I am grieving and all I can think is what on earth was all this horror for._

_This war has been so enormous, so pivotal in all it has wrought on our country, and on us. The loss, Matthew, it is such an unfathomable loss. I want to cry and rage and pace and howl._

_This war has formed us and shaped us in so many ways. We are, we have been, we always will be made different by it. You, especially you, Evelyn, and Eddie and all your other dear friends who have had to fight and somehow come back. But also __me, my sisters, our parents. We too __are made different by the loss of those who will never come home again._

_Sitting here at the bureau, with the time approaching midnight I am left with the enormity of the responsibility those of us left have to the many friends we have lost. We must live so that their lives were not lost in vain and we cannot, we must not forget them. I am sorry for smudging the ink. Missing you so terribly much,_

_Yours truly, always_

_Mary_

0-0-0-0-0-0

_18 November 1918_

_Dear Mary,_

_I am so pleased you will be back at Downton soon. It has been very strange here since the Armistice. We have the contrast of joy and gaiety among the staff and villagers and some of our patients, with an almost completely opposite reaction from other soldier patients, and all of us on the staff are finding it quite simply confounding. This group are sad and lost and we have had several men quite ill again. It's like some strange malaise has been precipitated by the announcement of peace._

_Sergeant Barrow organised for the talking cure doctor to come back for extra sessions, and when the Doctor briefed Edith and us nurses a few days ago he said it is grief, and it is uncertainty about what next. And of course that horrible question about whether all this loss has been worth it. He has encouraged us just to listen if the men want to talk. He says that will help. His counsel is such a stark contrast to what I was taught about war neurosis during my nurse training in York. "Forbid the patients from talking about what they experienced." "Encourage them to banish any thoughts of war from their minds." That was the advice back then!_

_Please don't feel bad, but I must tell you what an impact your letter to Matthew has had. Your poignant account of the war and how it has altered all of our lives seemed to articulate too perfectly the strange mixed up feelings so many of the men were having, and both Matthew and Eddie were in tears after reading your words. I must admit that I was too. And then we had to share it with Edith and Isobel, as what you said was just so important and apt for what we have seen going on with the patients here. Isobel says us reading your letter and crying over it can only be a good thing, as it will help us all to heal and I do think she is right. And Edith said you could be a writer, you put things so eloquently. So please, please don't be angry at Matthew for sharing it. He really didn't have much choice with me on duty that night finding him upset!_

_And in the midst of this strange time, some happy news. Evelyn is engaged to Sarah-Jane, who as you will remember is the daughter of Baron Farnsworth. It turns out that she and Evelyn were already acquainted before she began her work as a VAD here. We are all very pleased, and Papa has offered to host an engagement party for them here early next month, as Evelyn is still some months off being discharged._

_I am feeling very proud: I helped Evelyn choose her engagement ring. Papa agreed to Branson taking him to York to look for a ring given Evelyn might as well be family, and of course Major Clarkson wouldn't let him out without a nurse so I got to go. It was wonderful to look at all the gorgeous jewellery and help him choose a lovely piece. And not to have to wear a nurse's smock for the day! We had lunch out as well._

_The physical therapy programme is progressing well, and it is exciting seeing the men getting so much stronger. It really is a better approach than what we did before. Major Clarkson told me he thinks I should continue with medicine even though the war is over now. He told me there is a Women's College of Medicine in London, and that he will support me if I wish to apply. I had never imagined I could do such a thing, but having had the idea put to me I find that I like it, so I have decided that I will. Isobel is pleased and said she will help me all she can._

_I hear from Mama that she had asked Aunt Rosamund to introduce you to some suitable gentlemen! Hmm. I managed to keep a straight face when she told me, but I had a good laugh a bit later on with Edith when we imagined your reaction! Your lovely Matthew is missing you so very much, as I know you will be missing him. It is not long now and you can be back with him again. Please give my regards to Aunt Rosamund and to Rose of course._

_Your affectionate sister,_

_Sybil_


	24. Chapter 24

It felt so very good to be home. As the car turned into the entrance she found herself looking about with the eagerness of a young girl. Noticing. Appreciating. The bare trees silhouetted black against the leaden sky. The sharply pruned roses standing in their neat rows in the bare earth. The silver-grey lake, visible every now and again, beyond the oaks that lined the drive. And there was the house, rising up so very grandly in the distance. As they drew nearer, she recognised Carson standing to attention, alongside Papa and Mama, all of them waiting in anticipation of her arrival. Oh, she had missed them so!

Branson was saying something. "Sorry, Branson, I missed that," she said politely.

"I was just saying that Captain Crawley is not here, m'Lady. He's still down at Crawley house with Mr Molesely. The work he's doing for the returned soldiers. Some delay with a visitor. He told me to tell you he is very sorry and that he will look forward to seeing you when you gather before dinner."

Mary felt a pang of disappointment. Matthew. The person she most wanted to see. And now she must wait another few hours.

"Thank you for letting me know, Branson," she said trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice. Branson gave her a quick look through the rear vision mirror. "He really was sorry, Lady Mary," Branson added. "The visitor had turned up two hours late and not a person they could reschedule."

Mary nodded. "Of course. I will look forward to seeing him later then."

Branson climbed out of the car, opened her door and handed her out, and she was immediately enveloped in a bear hug from her father.

"Mary, my darling!" Robert exclaimed. "We have missed you, well everyone has missed you! I'm so glad you are home!"

"Mary," her mother said kissing her. "You are looking very well my dear. This time in London has been good for you," she said looking approvingly at her daughter in her stylish blue suit with its black and white patterned collar and matching hat. The months in London had certainly been kind to her. She looked rested, and there was a glow to her cheeks. Her mother tucked her arm in hers. "Come along my dear. There is a lot we both need to talk about!" and she accompanied her daughter inside.

Mary spent a pleasant hour with her parents, catching them up on Rosamund's news, and telling them all about London, and how extraordinary it had been during the Armistice. Cora updated her on the news of the staff, and how things were going at the hospital.

"Initially after the Armistice, we still had similar numbers of wounded arriving. But just the last week, numbers have started to reduce. So at some point in the next few months, Major Clarkson expects our designation as a military auxiliary hospital will end," she told Mary.

"And what will that mean for the administration?" Mary asked.

"Major Clarkson thinks the work will reduce substantially. He is unsure at the present time, but did say it's something he would like to discuss with you once you are back," Cora replied.

Eventually, the conversation turned to Evelyn's engagement party, and Mary asked what was planned for the evening ahead.

"We're starting with cocktails," Cora said enthusiastically. "We are expecting Viscount and Lady Branksome, and Baron and Lady Farnsworth of course. There will be some other gentlemen friends of Evelyn's as well. So do look your best tonight my dear," Cora said raising her eyebrows expectantly at her daughter.

Mary tried to swallow the irritation she felt at her mother's words. Sensing her discomfort, Robert changed the subject. He had surmised for a while now, that things were definitely not over between his daughter and his heir. He began to tell Mary about the progress Evelyn and Matthew had made in supporting the wounded soldiers in Downton back to work.

"They finally got a definite list together of the soldiers without jobs, it's taken quite a while just to find some of the men," Robert said. "Would you believe there are seventy-one on it?" he shook his head. "That many, for such a small village as ours," he said sadly.

"How are they progressing? Are there even the jobs out there that these men can do?" Mary asked.

"Well, that's a bit unknown. But they have managed to support ten of the men into positions so far," answered Robert. "Sometimes it's just been help with letters and building their confidence, but with some others, it's required quite a bit more, either to support the soldier or to help the employer equip the place so the soldier can work there comfortably. We are establishing some funds to help. In fact, I think Matthew was meeting a potential philanthropist about supporting one of the funds this afternoon."

"Oh. That must have been the visitor Branson told me he was seeing," Mary said.

"Was Charlie Connell one of the soldiers that have been placed?" she asked. Robert chuckled. "Yes he was, and there's a bit of a story to that! I'll give Matthew the pleasure of telling you, my dear."

Mary's face softened. "Very well, Papa. I shall look forward to that!"

Cora had noticed her daughter's slightly dreamy expression and her own face immediately stiffened. Mary glanced at her mother, and then deliberately looked away. Robert frowned at Cora. There was an uncomfortable silence between the three of them, and then the dressing bell sounded. Mary sprang to her feet.

"It's been lovely to catch up, but I have to see to the unpacking and have Anna run me a bath. Papa, Mama," she nodded in farewell, "I will see you shortly," and she escaped out of the door, hearing raised voices as she left. Her parents were clearly at odds over the prospect of her and Matthew being together, and right now, she had no wish to be part of their row. _Besides,_ she told herself, _It is not about them. I am a grown woman now, and I don't need their permission!_ Buoyed a little by that thought, she walked quickly upstairs, looking forward to being back in her own room, and catching up with Anna.

0-0-0-0-0-0

"Where are things at with Bates?" Mary asked Anna as she dressed her for dinner.

"Well m'Lady, it's been a bit tricky to be honest. But I think we're almost there. The friend of Vera's I found, well first off she wouldn't say to Mr Murray what she had said to me. But Mr Murray and Captain Crawley seem to have done something, for only last week I heard they had finally got her to say what really happened and swear to it," Anna gave a small smile. "So here's hoping I get John back soon. But I must say, m'Lady, I won't believe it till I actually see him out of that place," she said with a sigh.

"Of course," Mary said sympathetically. "I really hope he gets freed soon for your sake and his! You have managed so well through this difficult time Anna."

Anna gave a brief, sad smile, and changed the subject. "What gown would you like to wear, m'Lady?" she asked.

"Something that Captain Crawley would like," Mary said with an enigmatic smile.

"Red then," Anna said immediately, her lips twitching. "He'll be wearing his mess kit, so you'll match! How about this one?" and she selected a dark red, beaded silk gown from the closet.

Just as Anna was putting the finishing touches on her hair, Edith and Sybil came in to welcome her home.

"We've missed you so much!" Sybil exclaimed after they had all exchanged kisses. "It hasn't been the same on the wards without you, and you'll be surprised at just how many of the officers have been asking after you!" she said with a slightly mischievous smile.

"There's only one officer who matters to me," Mary said archly.

"Well my dear sister, you can rest assured that that particular blue eyed officer has been pining for you since the day you left," Sybil said swiftly. "Hasn't he, Edith?"

"He has indeed," Edith giggled.

"Speaking of favourite gentlemen, Edith, just how is Anthony?" Mary asked.

Edith's face fell. "He's taking a long time to come right. And his arm is not going to mend unfortunately. Getting used to that reality is proving quite hard for him, especially when he thinks about the farm and all the work he liked to do himself."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Mary said sincerely. "Is he out of the hospital yet?"

"He's due to move up here next week," Edith answered. "And then it will be a long haul. He's very breathless with the gas damage to his lungs, and it's meaning his general recovery is going a lot slower than could normally be expected," she wrung her hands, and there was a note of sadness in her voice. "At least I'll be able to see him a little more easily once he's arrived."

"That's a small blessing I guess," Mary said, giving her sister a sympathetic look. Things really didn't sound that good for Anthony. She wanted to ask Edith what was happening with their wedding plans, but had an instinct that it might upset her, so she asked her about the convalescent home instead.

"What decisions have been made about the home now the war is finished?" she asked Edith. "Mama was saying it could shut in a few months."

"It's likely to remain a little longer than that," Edith replied. "The word from the Army Medical Corps is that they will be looking to keep it open until rehabilitation has finished for all the current patients. And that includes seeing out the end of Sybil's physical therapy programme trial."

"Which means we could be looking at four to five more months of it continuing to operate," Sybil added.

In a strange way, Mary was relieved that things would continue as they had been for a while yet. In these moments it struck her just how much she enjoyed the purpose, camaraderie and teamwork that the war had required of them all. Whilst it was thankful that no more men would be getting killed or wounded, she knew she would miss the work and the friendships when it was all finished up.

Anna finally finished styling Mary's hair.

"There you are, m'Lady," she said approvingly. "How is that?"

Mary surveyed her reflection critically. "It's rather good, I must say, Anna! Josephine, the maid I had caring for me at Rosamund's was quite a bit more limited in what she offered me by way of hairstyle! It's so nice to have it properly crimped!"

"I wouldn't be lamenting the hair," Edith said. "I'm just jealous you got time to shop! That travelling suit on your bed looks rather gorgeous. I haven't got away from here for a new outfit for far too long!"

"Neither me," Sybil said. "I'm still relying on all my pre-war clothes!"

"Well, perhaps we need to organise a day trip to London sometime soon," answered Mary. "Both of you well deserve a break. I was just lucky that Aunt Rosamund was the only person I had to look after for all those weeks – so when she rested I could escape! A bit different here with so many patients to tend to," she shook her head.

They all stood up and made last minute adjustments to their outfits. Anna helped Mary on with her gloves, and then Mary followed her sisters out of the bedroom and downstairs.

Evelyn, Matthew and Edward, were seated together under the window, resplendent in their red and black uniforms. _What a handsome trio_, Mary couldn't help thinking as she walked towards them.

Edward noticed her first. "Mary!" he called out. "You're back at long last! We've missed you!" He leapt to his feet and took her hand and kissed it with just a little over exaggeration. Mary giggled, noticing the spring in his step and how fit he looked.

"Oh Eddie, I have greatly missed your fun! The Painswick household is deadly dull and serious compared to here!"

She turned to Evelyn next. "Congratulations Evelyn, my dear," she said, her voice a little emotional as he took her hand and kissed it. "I'm so very pleased for you and Sarah-Jane! Getting that news made my day in dreary grey London, it really did." She was delighted to see that Evelyn, too, looked a lot stronger than when she had left.

Evelyn smiled. "Thank you, Mary. You look marvellous! The break in London has done you good!" he said appraisingly.

A smile played at Mary's lips. "I'm not sure if I would call it a break! Early on I came to the conclusion that nursing soldiers was a lot easier than nursing my Aunt Rosamund," she said ruefully. The men looked at each other and chuckled.

And there was Matthew. Mary sat down beside him, a little overcome, and he took her hand and kissed it gently. "Mary my darling, welcome home!" his deep voice was like music to her ears. She was so overwhelmed she couldn't speak, but she couldn't stop smiling either. She just sat, holding his hands in hers.

Edward and Evelyn looked at each other and muttered, "Please do excuse us," and they moved across to join Sybil, Edith and Sarah-Jane, who were gathered in front of the fireplace.

Matthew sighed with pleasure as he took in Mary's rosy cheeks, perfectly coiffed hair, and slender figure, all of which were beautifully accentuated by her red evening gown and matching gloves. "Evelyn is right!" he said his voice low. "The time away has been good for you. You look absolutely marvellous!"

"I wore this dress for you," Mary said simply. And without thinking, she leaned across and kissed him very gently on the lips. Matthew hummed, and kissed her quite passionately back, his response sending a wave of desire through her. She shuddered, and then they both remembered where they were, and quickly broke apart. They gazed at each other, smiling. Longing. Needing. But now was not the time, nor the place.

"Mary," Matthew said, slightly breathless. "Later tonight. Can we talk. Just us."

"Where?" she murmured, a frisson coursing through her body at his words.

"Perhaps the small library?" he said quietly, and she nodded.

She took his hand again. "I can't get over how well you look!" she said wonderingly. "In fact all three of you look well! And you look fit!" she said noticing the muscle definition across Matthew's shoulders.

Matthew chuckled. "It's all thanks to Sergeant Sybil," he said raising his eyebrows.

Mary giggled. "Sergeant Sybil? What on earth!"

"It's our nickname for her," he grinned. "Don't you dare tell her that though! She's a slave driver. And it's paying off for all of us!"

"Who would have thought!" mused Mary. "My sweet young sister putting a bunch of officers through their paces! I'll have to come and watch this spectacle."

"You will indeed," and they smiled at each other again, appreciating just being together.

After a few minutes, Mary said reluctantly, "I guess we better circulate."

"Of course," Matthew replied. "This is Evelyn's show after all!" They both looked around to see who else had come in. Carson was announcing some guests and seeing Evelyn propel himself quickly across to them, they realised it was his parents.

"Shall we?" Matthew gestured to Mary. He put his hands on his wheels, and the two of them crossed the room to greet Viscount and Lady Branksome. More guests arrived. Carson and Alfred moved about taking and delivering orders for cocktails, and handing out dainty hors d'oeuvres.

A little while later whilst conversing with Sybil and Edward, Mary was surprised to hear Carson announce the arrival of Charles Blake. He entered, cutting a dashing figure in his navy uniform. She couldn't help but notice how shocked he looked when he saw Evelyn, a look he quickly covered up as Evelyn greeted him, and introduced him to his parents and his fiancé. _How do they know each other?_ She wondered. And then she heard Evelyn calling to her.

"Excuse me for a moment Sybil, Eddie," she said and she walked quickly across the room.

"Mary. Charles says he has had the pleasure of meeting you already at Lady Painswick's home. Would you mind introducing him to your family?"

"Of course not. That would be a pleasure. How are you Charles?" she said, extending her hand, which he politely kissed.

"Very well. And all the more so for seeing Evelyn at long last, and meeting the delightful Sarah-Jane!" he said looking fondly at his friend.

"And pardon my ignorance, but how is it that you two know each other?" Mary asked.

"Charles was my boss at the Exchequer. We worked together for four years before the war," Evelyn replied.

"So you are both Government men," Mary commented.

"Were, I think, is the expression one must use for now," Charles said. "I do, however, have an interview lined up next month, about the time I expect my discharge from the Navy to be through."

Carson was again announcing an arrival, and Sarah-Jane spoke up. "Evelyn, that is my parents. Please do excuse us, Mary, Charles," and she and Evelyn made their way to the door to greet Baron and Lady Farnsworth.

Charles turned back to Mary. "It's my turn to ask how it is that you know Evelyn," he said looking at her expectantly.

"My family and Evelyn's family have been acquainted for many years," Mary answered. "We've known each other since childhood."

"And how long has he been here since he was wounded?" Charles asked.

"It must be five months I think," Mary answered. "He had a month in the hospital before that."

"I hadn't realised he was so badly hurt," Charles said grimly. "We exchanged a couple of letters and he didn't give much away, just that he was glad to be back from the Front and enjoying proper food and clean clothes!" Charles shook his head. "Is he going to walk?"

"Everyone thinks so, including him," Mary said. "It won't happen fast though, and he may need a stick. The leg he's still got was very badly broken, and he's had a more than a few complications along the way."

"Well that's something I guess," Charles answered solemnly. "And he is alive! We've all lost far too many friends," he said and his voice tailed off. He gave himself a momentary shake and smiled at Mary again. "And it's wonderful he is to marry. She's a lovely girl."

"She is indeed. She has a great sense of humour and that's made her a very popular nurse here with the officers too," Mary said fondly. "Evelyn can be quite serious, and she brings out the fun side in him."

"And you have been a nurse here also!" Charles said. "Evelyn has been in very good hands then," and he smiled at her.

"It's not just been me!" Mary said. "My sisters Sybil and Edith are involved, and we have many other very good nurses," she replied. "And talking of my sisters, it's high time that I introduced you to all of my family," and she led him across first to Cora and Robert, and then across to Edith and Sybil, who were talking with Matthew and Edward. After introducing Charles to her sisters, she turned to the men.

"Matthew and Eddie, may I introduce Lieutenant Commander Charles Blake. Charles, this is Lieutenant Edward Donovan, and Captain Matthew Crawley," Mary said.

The men shook hands and began to talk, the war, and where and with whom they had all served the immediate topic of conversation. The three women exchanged looks, and sat back to listen. They were used to this. Servicemen talked candidly together of their time in the war, but never seemed able to talk about it with those who hadn't experienced battle first hand.

Dinner proved very pleasant. Baron Farnsworth gave a very short speech and Viscount Branksome followed, with words that were not without emotion. He spoke of how pleased they were to be shortly welcoming Sarah-Jane to their family, and he thanked Robert not only for hosting the evening, but for his and Cora's generosity in allowing Downton Abbey to be used for officer convalescence.

He reserved his final words for Evelyn. Addressing his son directly, he said he wished to use the occasion of his engagement to express to him just how proud he was of the work he was doing to lobby for nationwide adoption of the King's National Roll Scheme.

"Evelyn has also provided me with invaluable support with my own lobbying efforts for the Roll Scheme in Westminster. And I'm very pleased to say it's now almost certain that we'll see the scheme adopted," he said.

"Knowing how these things work, I wanted to emphasise to you all that it has been the lobbying efforts of servicemen like Evelyn themselves that has made the biggest difference.

"Evelyn, I am very proud indeed of what you are doing." he said. "Especially so as you have had a most difficult time these past months. And it gives me great pleasure to propose a toast to you, and to Sarah-Jane, on this happy occasion of your engagement. Please raise your glasses, ladies and gentlemen."

"To Evelyn and Sarah-Jane," they all chorused.

The rest of the evening passed quickly. Mary chose not to circulate, instead she sat beside Matthew and listened, whilst he, Charles and Evelyn got into an animated discussion about the job market and the impact of the war, and the intricacies of the King's National Roll Scheme, which Charles had not known about until Viscount Branksome had mentioned it at dinner.

"Tell me what you've been doing locally with this scheme, Evelyn," Charles asked.

"We've been encouraging the employers in the district to sign up to it, and in turn to lobby for it to be nationally recognised," Evelyn replied. "Both of us have been surprised at how well the moral argument seems to work. We've even managed to assist a couple of quite severely shell shocked men into work with two local businesses now, and that has to be a good thing."

"I would say so," Charles said, his voice solemn. "Men need the dignity of work. And there are hundreds of thousands of wounded struggling to find positions unable to provide properly for their families. What an indictment on our country, and what an impact on this generation!" he shook his head.

"And so many lost," Matthew said grimly. "At my law firm we are struggling just to find lawyers, so many of them are gone."

Charles asked him about his work then, and when he stood, reluctantly to take his leave later in the evening, he turned to Matthew and said warmly, "I haven't had such an animated discussion about things that actually matter for a very long time! It is marvellous what you and Evelyn are achieving. And Matthew, do you have a trade card? I have an acquaintance in the district looking for a solicitor."

"I do. I'll come out with you and fetch one on the way," Matthew replied and he followed Charles out, taking a detour to the small library on the way. He retrieved one of his cards from the desk and wheeled out to the entrance hall. He handed it to Charles who had just said goodnight to Robert and Viscount Branksome.

"Thank you for this, Matthew," Charles said, tucking it into his coat pocket. "It's been a very pleasant evening indeed, and, I must say, I am very pleased to see Mary so happy. You two are extremely well matched." And with that, he bade Matthew good night.

It was eleven o'clock before the last of the guests departed. Matthew and Mary exchanged a surreptitious look as Mary stood to follow her parents and Evelyn out to farewell Viscount and Lady Branksome.

As soon as motor had driven off, Mary slipped away from the entrance and walked quickly to the small library. Just as she was closing the door behind her, she heard her mother asking "Where is Mary?" and Sybil replying "I think I saw her going upstairs." Hearing her words, she inwardly rejoiced in the ease at which her sister was able to tell a little white lie.

Matthew wasn't there. And then she noticed that the French window was ajar. Looking out, she saw to her delight that it had started to snow. Now she knew where he would be. Matthew had always loved snow. She stepped out onto the terrace, enjoying the sensation of soft, cool flakes hitting her face and her bare arms.

She saw him at the edge of the terrace, gazing out at the line of the trees in the distance, their graceful bare trunks warmed by the yellow light streaming out from the windows behind them. He turned his chair when he heard her, and watched smiling as she walked over to him, hugging her bare arms against the cold, her red dress accentuating the curve of her hips as she moved. She looked a picture.

"I couldn't find you!" she said. "And then I saw the snow and realised where you would be!"

"Isn't this beautiful?" Matthew said holding out his hands to catch the snowflakes. "Look at that flake Mary, just look at the perfect crystalline structure, he said, marvelling at a large and quite exquisite flake that landed in his hand.

"And every single one is different," said Mary, her voice hushed

"What a lovely end to a lovely night. I'm really pleased for Evelyn. He really deserved this after such a torrid year," Matthew said with feeling.

"He certainly does," Mary agreed. They were both silent a moment, appreciating the quiet after the intensity of the evening.

"We are so very lucky to be here and enjoy this, aren't we?" Matthew said, taking a deep breath of the sharp night air.

"It's magic," Mary said, drinking in the beauty of the dancing snowflakes in the light from the windows.

"Magic. A bit like you," Matthew said, his voice husky and low. He looked up at her, his face suddenly intense. "Mary, do you know how much I have missed you these past months? I have missed everything about you. Your voice. Your beautiful smile. Our talks. Our arguments! I love how we can talk about anything, you and I. It's made me…" he paused.

"Mary, my darling. Can I ask you something?"

"Of course," she said expectantly. Was he ready? Was he finally going to ask her? Oh, God, she hoped so. Her heart began to beat fast with the intensity of his stare. She gazed back into his blue eyes, enjoying being able to look at him so fully. That silky blond hair and smooth skin. He really was impossibly handsome. He was still far too thin, but there was colour in his cheeks and he looked well. At last he really looked well. He was smiling at her. She had an overwhelming desire to lean over and kiss his perfect mouth. But she needed to let him speak.

He reached out and took her hand, and she felt her whole body tingle at his touch.

"Cousin Violet came to me quite a while ago, when I was still in the hospital. It was when we finally knew I'd pull through. That I'd recover."

"Oh?" said Mary "What did she have to say?"

"She told me that you were still in love with me. She said we should give each other another chance. At the time, I don't think I really heard what she said. Perhaps I wasn't ready... the thing is, since my injury, I've spent a lot of time trying not to feel... I mean I can't feel my legs properly and it's easier to cope, not feeling, facing what I am now.

"But that's changed. Thanks to things that you and Mother and Sybil have all said, and my friends of course, and especially Evelyn! Well... I'm starting to let myself feel and I, I," He stopped, unable to quite say words that Mary knew, surely, at long last, he was trying to say.

"What is it Matthew?" she said gently.

He took a deep breath. "Mary, those months ago when I declared I could never ever be with any woman when I found out my prognosis, and you said "what if she wanted to be with you on any terms," well, was that was about you? Or was it about Lavinia?"

"It was about me," Mary said, her voice low. "It was never about Lavinia. I've, I've always loved you Matthew. When I turned you down that first time because I was too scared to tell you about Kamal… I was making a dreadful mistake."

"And now? Are you sure?" He asked looking at her intently. She nodded.

"Because if you are not sure I will totally understand, and it won't change what we have, our friendship I mean, I wouldn't let it," he said firmly.

"I am sure, Matthew," Mary said quietly.

"Are you very, very sure?" he asked again, still looking at her. "With all this, and what it means, and what we can't have… no children and... he tailed off and gestured his legs.

"I'm very, very sure Matthew," Mary said again. She was smiling.

And then he began to smile too. "Because if you are… well, I.. I love you very much."

And then she was leaning toward him, and he was wrapping his arms around her, pulling her into his lap and her mouth was on his mouth, tasting his sweetness, feeling his soft, warm lips, his tongue meeting hers and her body began to ache with desire.

They broke apart for an instant, just looking at each other in unabashed delight. "You are so very beautiful you know," Matthew's eyes sparkled, and he kissed her again, a short, sweet kiss. He looked at her his face serious again, and said "Well how about it? Is this our second chance Mary?"

"You must say it properly you know!" she said, suddenly giddy with joy.

"Of course. But you'll just have to pretend I'm on my knee all right?" She giggled. He took her hands in his and paused for a moment, looking at her. He took a deep breath and said "Lady Mary Crawley, will you give me the honour of becoming my wife?"

"Yes, oh yes!" Mary said breathlessly throwing her arms around his neck.

Matthew held her in a tight embrace, wordless, and then he let out a loud 'whoop' and did something with his wrist, and all of a sudden they were spinning around and around.

"Oh," Mary giggled. "Where on earth did you learn how to do that?" she said in amazement.

"That," he said, "was your dear sister Sybil. He began to laugh. "She was playing around in my chair one time during our physical therapy."

"What with you in it? Mary said, and her eyes began to widen.

"No, silly," he said smiling and giving her a gentle swat. "We were all on the floor doing some ghastly weights session and she was counting us out like she does, and then all of a sudden she stopped, mid count." Matthew laughed out loud at the recollection of her saying, "Hey lads, do you know how to do this?"

"And there she was spinning the chair round and round. We were all in fits, and then in true Sybil style she set a wager with us – if we got to 50 repetitions she'd teach us how to do it – our reward at the end of the session." He laughed again, and Mary inwardly rejoiced at the sound. _Thank god for Sybil_ she thought, tears pricking the back of her eyes. _Making physical therapy fun!_ She was giving Matthew his life back.

They kissed each other again, slowly this time, enjoying the warmth. Matthew's tongue was insistent, yet caressing inside her mouth and the sheer pleasure of its gentle exploration sent a thrill through her body. Oh God, she wanted him. All of him. They broke apart again, realising that the snow flurries were starting to thicken, and that both of them were now quite damp. Matthew, his voice noticeably deeper and huskier than a few minutes before, said, "We had best get inside, my darling."

"Can you manage both of us?" Mary said, reluctant to spoil their intimacy, and leave the warmth of his lap.

Matthew chuckled. "Do you know? Thanks again to Sybil, I think I just might!" and with that, he steered them carefully back across the terrace through the now rapidly settling snow, and in through the French windows to the warmth inside.

Carson was in the library drawing the curtains, and Mary couldn't help smiling at the rapid transition of looks on his face – from surprise, then pleasure, and then business like – all in an instant.

"Lady Mary, Captain Crawley, I'll fetch some towels," he said turning on his heel.

Mary giggled as he left. "He'll be pleased as punch, you know," she said idly brushing snow off Matthew's beautifully toned forearms.

"Oh?"

"Carson knows I've been in love with you forever. I think he'd started to get resigned to it being endlessly unrequited!"

"In some ways he probably knows you better than you know yourself," Matthew said grinning. "Nice we can make his day now!"

He looked at her again, stroking back a strand of her glossy brown hair that had fallen loose, and studying the smooth porcelain skin of her face, her sensuous strawberry coloured mouth and her sparkling warm brown eyes. He traced a finger gently over the curve of each dark eyebrow and sighed with pleasure.

Mary tightened her arms around him and snuggled against his warm chest, listening to his heart beating. A little quicker than normal. Knowing she was having that effect on him sent yet another thrill through her body. She felt indescribably happy. How long had she privately hoped and pined for this? And now it had happened. She and Matthew were going to marry.

Perhaps Matthew knew what she was thinking, because as he nuzzled her head with his chin he said suddenly "I hope I can get to Robert and ask for his blessing before he gets wind of us via the staff!"

"Your best bet is to get up bright and early my darling," Mary said. "Papa is always first to breakfast."

Carson arrived back with towels, accompanied by one of the hall boys.

Mary stood up from Matthew's lap and towelled herself down, and Matthew did the same. The hall boy dealt to his chair with a cloth.

"Carson, is anyone still up?" Mary asked.

"No, Lord and Lady Grantham went upstairs about ten minutes ago, and I've just sent Jimmy and Alfred downstairs now," he replied.

"I guess we'd better get to bed now too," said Mary reluctantly. Neither of them wanted to part from each other. "Will you be all right Matthew?" she asked.

"Yes, Sister Thomsen is on tonight," he replied. He paused for a minute and then gave her a wry smile. "Go on! You need your beauty sleep my darling. Tomorrow is going to be interesting for us both." They exchanged meaningful glances, and then Matthew took her hand and kissed it chastely before bidding her and Carson good night.


	25. Chapter 25

The house was quiet and it was still quite dark outside when Matthew arrived early to breakfast. "Carson," he said. "If you don't mind, I would like to take my meal with Robert this morning."

"Of course, Captain Crawley," Carson said, the slightest smile playing at his lips. He had already tipped off the kitchen, having heard the tail end of Matthew and Mary's conversation the night before. He asked Matthew what he would like, and disappeared back downstairs to advise Mrs Patmore.

Matthew was pleased to see Robert was alone. "Matthew! You're up bright and early! Sybil still got you in training?" Robert said jovially.

Matthew grinned. "The training's not stopping anytime soon, Robert, as my recovery still has a very long way to go! But Sunday is our day off, and I am here early as I was hoping to speak with you alone."

"Of course. What is it my dear chap?" Robert looked at him quizzically.

Matthew drew his wheelchair up to the table. He sat back, his elbows on the armrests, and his fingers together in a steeple shape. He looked across at Robert and took a deep breath.

"Robert. Last night I asked Mary to marry me, and she said yes," he paused. "I know I haven't done this quite the right way around, but damn it, Robert, I am here to ask for your blessing."

A look of delight came across Robert's face. "My dear boy, that is quite the best news I have had in a very long time! Of course, you have my blessing. I have been waiting for this day, and now it is finally here!" and he had to blink back a tear suddenly forming in his eye.

He shook his head. "Such very good news," he said a little emotionally. "About time this family had some good news. About time you had some good news!" and his voice shook. "I am very pleased for you Matthew. Pleased for you both!"

He leant across and clapped Matthew on the shoulder, smiling broadly. Sitting back, he reached into his pocket for his handkerchief and dabbed his eyes.

They grinned at each other, and then Robert said, "I don't care a toss what the time is. This calls for a drink." He stood up and rang the bell for Carson, who was soon back.

"Sir, how may I help?" Carson said politely. "If it is about your meal, your kedgeree is still about ten minutes away."

"It's not our meal Carson," Robert replied. "I wanted to ask if you might find us a bottle of Champagne! I've just had the most wonderful news from Matthew," he said effusively. "He and Lady Mary are to marry!"

"Wonderful news indeed!" Carson replied smiling broadly and flashing Matthew a knowing look. Matthew's lips twitched. Robert's announcement had come as no surprise to his Butler.

"Captain Crawley," he said, his smile growing even wider. "Please allow me to offer you my heartfelt congratulations. I am very pleased for you, and for Lady Mary of course," and he shook Matthew's hand with quite some vigour.

"Thank you very much, Carson," Matthew said grinning back. "Lady Mary has waited long enough!"

Carson snorted and quickly turned it into a cough. He turned back to Robert and said, "My Lord, from recollection there is a bottle of Veuve Clicquot on hand that we did not open last night. Would that be suitable?"

"It sounds marvellous," Robert answered.

When Carson returned with the champagne, Robert said "For god's sake, Carson. Pour yourself one as well, and stay here and help me toast the young man, would you!"

The three of them spent a convivial few minutes enjoying the champagne and Robert began to reminisce on his engagement and marriage to Cora, bringing smiles to both Carson and Matthew's faces. Carson kept a discreet eye on the time, and in due course, excused himself, returning shortly with their hot meals.

The two men focused on their breakfast for a while, and then Robert asked whether they had given any thought to where they might want to live. "I can take that into account in your settlement," he explained.

Matthew was silent for a while, thinking. Truth be told, he realised, he had given that question, like so much of his future, no thought at all. Until now his focus had been tightly on the day to day. It had been a necessary step in just surviving and dealing with his new reality. _I wonder if it has been the same for Mary too?_ He thought. And he realised it probably was. In fact, Mary had said as much on one occasion: that keeping focused on the day to day had helped her cope with her constant anxiety over the situation with Carlisle.

"You are quiet all of a sudden," Robert observed.

"You asking about where we might live made me realise how long it has been since I've dared to think of the future Robert," Matthew said steadily. "Aside from thinking about my work. The decision to return to my old firm did necessitate some future thinking, but that's been all." He sighed and then smiled.

"Perhaps planning for a wedding will give us the push we need to look ahead a little more."

"There really is no hurry," Robert hastened to say. "Your home is here as long as you both wish it!"

"You have always made me feel most welcome Robert, and I am very grateful for that," Matthew replied.

"But your words do make me realise there will be a number of things now that Mary and I need to plan for, now we have decided to marry. One of which, of course, is where we might live."

As they sipped their tea after the meal, Matthew asked delicately, "Robert, what do you expect Cora's reaction to be? I have a sense that she may be less pleased."

Robert scowled. "Leave Cora to me. She, well… Matthew, she and I disagree on what is best for Mary. And she fails to see how strong yours and Mary's love is for each other. What I hope is that over time she will learn to accept what is to be, but I must warn you I do not expect her to take the news easily at first."

"That's what I thought," Matthew said, a little sadly. "I think that Cora believes that Mary will eventually resent being in a childless marriage. And she does have a problem with me not being able to walk. That has never been an issue for Mary, but you need to know that the question of children is a major reason why it has taken me so long to propose to her."

"Yes of course," Robert paused for a moment. Then he looked across at Matthew and said firmly, "The fact is, Matthew, that Mary will not be happy with anyone else but you. She has loved you for a very long time, and you bring out the very best in her. I cannot see a better match for her, ever, children or no children."

He continued to look at Matthew in silence, and then he said, "You could adopt, of course. I always thought you'd make a wonderful father."

Matthew stared at Robert, surprised.

"I... I understood that the entail prohibits adopted children from inheriting?" he countered.

"Isn't what you and Mary might want more important than just an heir to the blasted title?" Robert swore.

"Of course… Robert, I..." Matthew stopped and smiled all of a sudden. "You surprised me, that's all."

"Well, perhaps the war has changed me too. With a bit of luck, for the better," and for the second time that morning, he reached across to clap Matthew on the shoulder.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Mary awoke with a start and saw immediately that it was still quite early. Wondering why she suddenly remembered the events of the evening before and a delicious feeling of anticipation spread through her. With any luck, Matthew was talking to her father already. She sat up and hugged her knees, remembering how it had felt to be wrapped in Matthew's arms watching the snow spiralling down around them. Smiling, she leant across and rang the bell. Today was not a day to linger in bed.

When she arrived in the dining room for breakfast, her sisters were there alone.

"Mary!" Sybil said excitedly. "Papa and Matthew have just left. They told us your news! We're thrilled!"

"I'm pleased for me too," Mary's eyes sparkled. "I had reconciled myself to a long wait. And to come back and have him ready to ask. Well, it's marvellous! And I know that Matthew is going to make me very happy. Very happy indeed."

"It is wonderful news, Mary," Edith said. "Matthew is a fine man, and he is already making you happy! We have seen that for months now," she smiled at her sister.

"What about Mama though?" Mary asked worriedly. "She's been positively frosty toward Matthew of late. And I could feel her disapproval across the room last night when I was sitting talking with him!"

Sybil snorted. "It's not her decision," she said firmly.

"I know that. And she won't make me change my mind. But she could make things difficult. You know what Mama is like!"

"That's true," Edith said thoughtfully. "I never told you this, but Mama tried to get Lavinia to come back, you know."

"When?" Mary said, aghast.

"Just after you went to take care of Aunt Rosamund," Edith replied, rolling her eyes. "I overheard her on the telephone. It didn't work though. The gist I got from it was that Lavinia might have someone else. And Mama looked quite disappointed when she hung the receiver up!"

Mary felt shocked. If her mother had gone that far in her efforts to force her and Matthew apart, it didn't bode well for how she might be now that they had announced they were to marry.

"Just what is Mama's problem?" she said, looking questioningly at her sisters.

Sybil and Edith exchanged glances, neither of them wanting to voice what they had surmised was their mother's concern with her eldest daughter marrying her husband's heir.

Rather than answer Mary's question directly, Sybil said, "If I were you, I'd get married as soon as you can.

"The less time she has to scheme and plot and get cross with you, the better. And once you are married there's no going back. There never is, for our kind of people."

"How about an Army wedding?" Edith said unexpectedly. "Matthew is not discharged. Neither are you, for that matter. And I imagine you'll want to invite a lot of people working here, not to mention some of the convalescing officers like Evelyn! It might provide a good excuse for getting married sooner. A simpler wedding, and you marrying a decorated Captain.

"And it could be slightly more palatable to Mama," she finished.

Mary looked at her sister, frowning slightly. "You know Edith, I quite like that idea. Strange because if you had asked me to consider such a thing even a year ago my answer would have been an emphatic 'no!'

"But now, the very last thing I want for Matthew and myself is a big society wedding. It doesn't fit with what's important to us. And who we have become."

Edith and Sybil looked at each other and smiled. This post-war Mary was indeed very different to the Mary they had grown up with. And it was a difference they realised they both quite liked.

The three of them were silent for a while, and Mary toyed with the food on her plate.

"I'll talk to Matthew about it. But the more I think about it, the more I like it. Especially if we can make it happen soon."

"Well, soon would be nice for Edith too," Sybil said unexpectedly. "Are you and Anthony still keeping to the same date? It was early May wasn't it?"

Edith sighed, a shadow crossing her face. "I do hope so. It will all depend on his recovery. He is still quite unwell."

"Perhaps Matthew and I could look at the beginning of March then," Mary said thoughtfully. "I don't like the idea of us marrying in the dead of winter, but that might be early enough in the spring to allow enough time for you to keep with your date Edith, and hopefully Anthony will be well enough by then for you to keep to it."

Immediately after breakfast, Mary went in search of Matthew. She found him in the recreation room, reading the paper.

"Good morning, my darling," she said, keeping her voice low, as there were other officers about.

"Good morning Lady Mary," he said looking up at her with a delighted smile. "I see you haven't slept in!"

"For some reason, I just couldn't," she replied, her lips twitching. She sat down beside him. "I've just had breakfast. My sisters were very pleased to hear our news!"

"As was your father," Matthew said, and he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it gently. "In fact, he was in tears!" he batted his eyelashes at her in an alarmingly alluring fashion. "He even gave me some Champagne, which I must say has put me in a most agreeable frame of mind this cold morning," and he gently kissed her hand again.

His magnetic blue eyes gazing into hers, and the touch of his soft, warm lips on her hand sent a frisson coursing through her body. Mary gave a breathless sigh. Oh, God. How were they going to be able to wait until their wedding night?

Her yearning for him grew as she watched him, his eyes roaming across her body, his mouth slightly open, his breath quickening. Desire was written all over him.

Matthew found himself moving imperceptibly towards her, fully intending to kiss her rosebud lips when he suddenly remembered where they were.

Oh goodness. Champagne this early really hadn't been a good idea after all. He shook himself, sat up and asked in a very ordinary voice, "Mary. Would you like to go to Church with me? And afterwards, I'd like to see Mother."

His words had the desired effect, bringing Mary back to where they were with a jolt. She couldn't help giggling.

"Of course I'd like to come to Church with you, my darling," she said mirroring his ordinary voice. And then she put her hand to her mouth and whispered: "But I don't think I can stand how long I will have to wait till we are married!"

Matthew gave low chuckle in reply. "Neither me!" and he raised his eyebrows. He took a deep breath and tried to quell the heat consuming his body. He rubbed his face vigorously with his hands, took another deep breath, sat up and looked across at her expectantly.

"If we do want to get to church, we had better get ready," he said. " "Do you mind walking there?" He asked, putting his hands on his wheels.

"Can you really make it all the way in your chair?" Mary said in surprise.

He grinned at her. "Yes. All the way. New trick."

"I'm in awe of you," Mary said admiringly. "You've made so much progress while I've been away!"

"Thanks to your sister," Matthew added. "We'll need to dress warmly though. How about I meet you in the entrance in fifteen minutes."

Even though the snow had not settled in the end, it was very cold out of doors, and they could see their breath as they made their way up the drive.

They began to talk about their wedding and when they should hold it, and Mary shared Edith's idea of an Army wedding. "I have to say, I quite like the sound of it, myself," she mused. "Means we can hold it sooner, and it would give us the excuse to invite some of the medical staff and officers it might not otherwise be the done thing to do," she added.

Matthew was quiet for a while, thinking. "Are you all right?" Mary asked eventually. "Or is an Army wedding too much a reminder of hard times?" she asked delicately.

"That's what I'm trying to reconcile in my mind," he said slowly. "But I think there are more positive's associated with it, strangely enough, than sadness for me," he said, and he glanced across at her.

"You, doing what you have towards the war effort. You weren't at the Front. But you've done so much to support those of us who were. It feels like something we've been through together."

"I think that's why I liked the idea when Edith raised it," Mary reflected. "We've shared this experience, you and I. And the people that really matter to us, well they have shared in this experience too."

"I'd want Alex to be my best man, you know, " Matthew said after a few moments. It would honour him too, wouldn't it, if he could be there, in uniform as Colonel Shipton."

"It would. And that's important," agreed Mary. "And Mr Mason and Daisy must be there too," she added.

Matthew stopped wheeling his chair and looked across at her. "Do you really mean that Mary?" he said in surprise.

Mary nodded. "I really do."

"But what about…?" Matthew began.

"Oh bully for propriety!" Mary frowned. "How about honour! William was your friend. He saved your life! Of cours, his people should be with us!"

Matthew looked at her, shaking his head slightly, and then he said "Oh, my. I never..." and then he couldn't stop the tears.

Mary put her hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry," she said gently. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"You haven't... well you have and you haven't," Matthew tried to explain, wiping his eyes with the back of his gloved hand.

"Have you got a handkerchief?" she asked. He nodded and reached into his greatcoat pocket to retrieve it. He wiped his eyes and took a deep breath. "Thank you for saying what you said," he began. "It means so much to me hearing you say that!

"But it does remind me. I miss him a lot you know. Most days I think of him. He had so much ahead. He was only a boy, Mary! Full of life, and ideas. So capable. Such a goddamn waste," his voice shook with emotion.

Mary knelt down beside him and clasped his hand. She said nothing, knowing he just needed some time.

"Sorry," he whispered when he had calmed down.

"Matthew," she said gently. "Never say sorry. Not for this. He was your friend."

"Are you all right to keep going?" she asked after a moment. He nodded, and she stood up.

"How about I push your chair for a bit?" she offered.

Matthew nodded. Grief was exhausting, he decided.

They resumed their progress. After a few minutes, Matthew reached back and put his hand on Mary's. "Thank you," he said, and his voice was a little brighter.

They were mostly silent for the rest of the journey. Mary couldn't stop thinking about the war and what he had been through. _How many friends has Matthew lost?_ She thought grimly to herself. She knew it wasn't just William that he grieved for.

Most of his lawyer friends from University had died. His work colleague had died. And what about the countless men in his regiment he had lived with and fought with day in and day out, and who had never come back.

She dreaded to know just how many of them had died in front of his very eyes. In some brutal, horrific fashion. It was unfathomable. She gave an involuntary shudder.

"Are you all right?" Matthew twisted round to look at her.

She sighed. "Just a little sad is all. Sad for what you have been through, and the friends you have lost," she said solemnly. Matthew sat back and looked ahead. He said nothing. But after a moment, he reached back and put his hand on hers again.

Isobel arrived at the church entrance at the same time that they did. Molesley and Mrs Bird were just behind her.

"Mary!" she exclaimed with a warm smile. "What a pleasant surprise! It is so good to see you home!"

"It is wonderful to be home Isobel," Mary smiled. "I missed Downton and everyone very much." She came around and stood by Matthew. They glanced at each other, and Matthew reached for her hand and gave her a slight nod. "And Isobel, we have an announcement to make."

"We do, indeed," Matthew echoed, giving Mary's hand a squeeze. "Mother," he began looking steadily at Isobel. "Mary and I are going to get married."

Isobel gave a little gasp and put her hand to her mouth. "Oh, my dears," she said, and she began to blink rapidly. "That is such wonderful, wonderful news!" she exclaimed. She put her hands on Mary's shoulders and kissed her on the cheek, and then leaning down, she did the same to her son. And then, at a loss for words, she simply stood and beamed at them.

Mr Molesley and Mrs Bird had turned back and were looking on curiously, Isobel's exclamation having caught their attention.

Matthew beckoned them over, smiling. "Mrs Bird, Molesley," he said. "I am delighted to announce that Lady Mary and I are to marry."

"Oh! What a thing! Well, I never!" Mrs Bird said her face breaking into a wide smile. "That is the very best news! Mr Crawley, m'Lady: You make a fine pair, I must say!"

"Congratulations Sir, Lady Mary," Molesley said, genuinely delighted. "I'm so very pleased for you. Very pleased indeed!"

"Who else knows?" Isobel asked, spontaneously reaching to clasp her son's hand.

"All of my family here in Downton, except for Violet. We hoped to see her here this morning," Mary replied.

"You should," Isobel nodded. "She normally attends this service. And will you both be joining me for luncheon afterward?"

"If that is convenient, we would love to!" answered Mary.

"We shall have a lot to talk about then," Isobel looked very pleased indeed. "And we must have Violet to join us as well."

"I hate to interrupt, but I think we should go in," Molesley said politely. "It's almost time." He grasped the handles of Matthew's wheelchair and carefully backed him up the steps to the door. Isobel, Mary, and Mrs Bird followed.

"Thank you Molesley," Matthew said when they reached the foyer. He spun his chair around and was wheeling himself in when he heard someone call out "Captain Crawley!" He stopped and turned the chair back around again. There was Charlie Connell dressed in his Sunday best with an older woman who he surmised must be his mother.

"Private Connell!" he said. "Or are you going by Mr Connell these days?"

"Private to you, Sir!" said Charlie with a grin. "This here's me Mam. Mam, I'd like you to meet Captain Crawley. And this here is…?" he said looking at Mary.

"Lady Mary Crawley. My fiancé," Matthew said with a wide smile. _God, it feels good saying that_, he thought.

"An honour to meet you, Lady Mary," Charlie finished, bowing his head politely.

"It's nice to meet you at long last, Mr Connell," Mary said kindly. "I've heard a lot about you from Matthew!"

Charlie blushed. "Only good things, I hope!"

"Of course," Mary smiled. They turned to his mother then. Mary greeted her, and Matthew followed, saying, "It is a pleasure to meet you finally, Mrs Connell."

"The pleasure is all mine, Captain Crawley!" She gave him an earnest look. "Captain, I'm glad of this opportunity. For we have so much to thank you for! You've got my lad into work, and good work at that. Do you know, his position was confirmed as permanent this week. And with it he's got a pay rise!"

"Charlie did it, himself, you know," Matthew said gently. "He's a hard worker and a good lad. You can be proud of him. We just gave him a bit of advice on how to go about it."

"You've no need to be modest, Sir," she said firmly. "I know you did quite a lot more than that, and I've talked with some of the other lads you're giving a hand to as well. This village is lucky to have the likes of you and Lieutenant Napier helping out. And Mr Molesley!" She nodded her head in his direction. "It means such a lot." She gave him another warm smile and turned and followed her son to her seat in the congregation.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Oxford St was busy, and a light drizzle was falling, as Mary and Isobel made their way into yet another clothes shop. As she stepped through the door a little too quickly trying to get out of the rain, Mary bumped into someone.

"I beg your pardon," she said, distractedly.

"Mary!" said a voice in surprise.

She looked up to see Lavinia smiling at her.

"Lavinia, what on earth are you doing here?" she said, pleased to see her after so long.

"I could ask you the same thing, except that this very morning I received the invitation to yours and Matthew's wedding, so I do have an idea why you might be visiting this store!" she laughed prettily.

She held out her hand, upon which was a simple diamond on a gold circlet. "Jonathan and I are engaged," she said a little shyly. "We marry in the summer, so I've started looking at dresses."

"That is wonderful news!" said Isobel, who was taking off her coat and trying to shake the water out of her hair. "Is this the same Jonathan as before?" Isobel went on.

"Yes, in fact, it is. Funny isn't it. Mary, you and Matthew got back together, and that's what happened for myself and Jonathan," she said. "Jonathan and I have known each other since we were quite young," Lavinia added, seeing the quizzical look on Mary's face.

"His father worked with my father in banking for many years. We spent time together the year I was studying music, and then we drifted apart when his family moved to France. They came back half way through the war and we found our way to each other again in recent months!" She gave a wide smile and her eyes had the softness of someone in love.

"I'm really pleased for you Lavinia," Mary said sincerely, genuinely glad to hear that Lavinia was in love and had a wedding to look forward to.

"Have you time to join us for tea? I'm sure I won't be too long here and it would be lovely to catch up on all your news."

"Unfortunately I have to go," she said. "I've got to meet my father with his solicitor in a little while to look over some investment documents. But I am greatly looking forward to seeing you properly at the wedding, and Matthew of course. And do tell me quickly how he is, I have been wondering of late."

"To be honest, he's amazing. He's made huge progress with his physical recovery, and he's back at work a few days a week now," Mary said. "But it's everything else he's doing that is astounding us. He and Evelyn have been organising the unemployed veterans, and out of that, they have got quite a number of them back into proper jobs, including quite a few with serious impairments. And Matthew is formidable if he thinks the local employers aren't giving the returned soldiers a fair go," she smiled.

"So he's able to get out and about?" Lavinia said in surprise.

"Quite well, all things considered," said Isobel with a smile. "You'll understand when you see him next!"

"I will look forward to it," she said a little wistfully. "I'm just so very, very glad he survived and I know both of you played a major part in that." She blinked back tears and gave them another of her pretty smiles. "I really must be off or Father will start to worry. And such good luck with finding a nice dress, Mary!"

Lavinia bade them a good day and left for her meeting with her father.

Isobel hastened Mary into the shop and beckoned an assistant, aware they still had a lot to do. They chatted together, discussing Lavinia's news as the assistant showed them through the racks, pulling out this and that for Mary to view.

Much to Mary's delight, the store had several dresses that she liked, and she and Isobel finally settled on one of them, a warm cream colour that contrasted nicely with her dark hair and eyes. The material had a heavy, luxurious feel, which Mary felt instinctively would be good with the early spring timing. A spray of fine beads ran up one side and across one shoulder, in a very flattering effect.

"You are going to look lovely, my dear!" said Isobel warmly, as they left the shop after Mary had been fitted, and the order placed.

"Thank you so much for coming with me Isobel," Mary said. "You can't know how much I appreciate it," she said with feeling.

Unspoken between them was Cora's absence. Cora had made it clear that she was helping Mary with the wedding preparations simply because Robert had insisted, and that she could not support their union. She and Mary had ended up having a row.

"Mother, you spent the first three years that Matthew was here at Downton pushing me to marry him. Now that I am to marry him, you are implacably opposed!" she said in frustration.

"The situation is different," Cora said firmly. "How is it different?" Mary raged. "I love Matthew, and if you must know, I love him much, much more than before!"

"He cannot give you children," Cora said tightly.

"We will adopt," Mary said stubbornly.

"You won't have the life of a married woman!" Cora bit out. "You will be little better than a nursemaid! I don't want that for my daughter!"

"That is not true, and you know it," said Mary coldly. "You have written him off. That's what you have done. You ignore what he can do, what he is doing, and you ignore how much he loves and supports me." She glared at her mother.

"Have you thought how it will look Mary?" Cora beseeched. "How can you possibly take your place in society on the arm of a a …"

"I see," Mary interrupted, her voice even colder. "It's all about how it looks, is it? I cannot believe you, my very own mother can be so shallow, not to mention downright callous.

"I have chosen to be with him, Mama. And for your information, I will be enormously proud the day I take my place in society with Matthew at my side." Mary turned on her heel and left, her heart beating fast in her chest, her fists clenched.

Now, leaving the dress shop with Isobel, she couldn't help but feel the absence of her mother most keenly. She sighed, and Isobel said perceptively "You want Cora, don't you, my dear."

Mary nodded, but couldn't speak. Isobel led her into a nearby teashop, and they sat down in a quiet corner towards the back.

"I'm so angry with her, Isobel," Mary said at last. "She spent three years trying to force me to marry Matthew, and now when both of us want it so much, she won't support us!

"She treats Matthew like he is inhuman. I cannot abide it."

Isobel sighed. "Mary, your mother is worried for you. You may not understand her reasons for that worry, but strange as it seems, it will be coming from a place of love where she is concerned.

"Try to carry on as normal, and perhaps just act towards her as if she does support your marriage. I do hope, like you, that she will get to a point where she sees Matthew instead of seeing his wheelchair, but perhaps that's going to take her longer than the rest of us. But we shouldn't judge her for that."

"But it's not fair on Matthew!" Mary burst out, tears pricking the back of her eyes.

"Mary," Isobel said patiently. "Let Matthew fight that battle. It's his to fight," and then she smiled. "And to let you in on a little secret, Matthew is strong enough in himself now to see it as quite funny. And he's chosen to be patient with her and wait it out. Perhaps you need to do the same."

"Has he really?" Mary asked in surprise, blinking back her tears.

Isobel nodded and smiled. "It's become a bit of a standing joke between us I must admit over the past months! Humour can make a lot of things bearable! And it's allowing Matthew to be patient with her."

Mary took a deep breath. "Right now, it's going to take me quite a while to forgive her, you know," she said a slight tremor in her voice. "She said some truly awful things when we rowed."

She looked at Isobel and gave a small smile. "But hearing you say how Matthew is dealing with it does make me feel just a tiny bit better. Thank you so much for telling me that."


	26. Chapter 26

"Matthew?" Mary looked at him frowning. They were reading the papers in the small library together and Carson had just brought through morning tea. "What is the matter? You've been sighing and harrumphing ever since Papa left! "What is it?"

Matthew had just spent an hour with Robert reviewing the estate's monthly report and financial statements. It had become a ritual for them now on the second Saturday of every month.

"It's the third month in a row where Jarvis hasn't done what he said he would," Matthew said in exasperation. "There's five tenants in rent arrears. He's only served one of them notice, and even that notice was late!

"Another property has a leaking roof, and he hasn't organised the repairs, and now it's caused even more damage. And he still hasn't organised the meeting with the tenant farmers we wanted to be set up well before the spring, to promote those new cropping techniques that Anthony has found to be successful," he frowned and drummed his fingers on the armrest of his chair.

"If this problem is with Jarvis, why are you so cross with Papa?" Mary pressed.

"Because Robert hasn't followed up with him," Matthew replied. "Three months back he said he'd set a deadline for the tasks with him. And he didn't. Then two months back he had only spoken to him about the leaking roof matter. Last month he finally did talk about the other matters, but today he admitted he'd said to Jarvis, "Just get the tasks done when you can" rather than hold Jarvis to a firm date. And then today we find Jarvis has taken action on only one part of just one of the tasks!"

"Why don't you talk to Jarvis then?" Mary asked.

"Robert won't let me. He says I haven't got the right manner," Matthew rolled his eyes.

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Mary said drily, rolling her eyes back at him. You're a little too holier than thou in how you put things at times, you know. Some people might even call you a prig."

"Including you," Matthew grumped.

"Perhaps," Mary said archly. She was silent a moment, and then said, "I wonder if it's all too much for Jarvis. He must be close to retirement by now. Perhaps Papa needs to pension him out and put someone else into the role."

"Well something needs doing quickly," Matthew said, exasperation still in his voice. "This sort of thing could end up putting the estate in jeopardy, Mary. The margins are not great at the best of times, and matters like this, whilst they look small, could push things into the red if they don't get sorted."

"But what will happen to those tenants in arrears?" Mary said worriedly. "We can't send them down the road in the dead of winter!"

"I'm not saying that," Matthew said hotly.

"Well, what are you saying?" Mary replied a little defensively. "Papa always puts people first, you know that! No wonder he gets cross with you!"

"I don't have an answer," Matthew said hopelessly. "But I would have thought finding that answer was part of Jarvis's job."

"Well, Matthew," Mary said firmly. "Jarvis has never been great on taking initiative. And you are going to have to find a way to talk to Papa so that he listens. If you have some actual solutions to offer that Papa could put to Jarvis, then maybe Papa will be less reticent in taking the necessary action."

She stood up. "And, my darling, I'm sorry but I must away. I have to do the afternoon shift. One of the nurses has called in sick." She leant over and kissed him. "And think seriously about what I said," she finished, straightening up. Matthew rolled his eyes at her, but he nodded, knowing she was right.

0-0-0-0-0-0

"This is a good turnout," Evelyn said to Matthew as they looked around the crowded, noisy public house. The Grantham Arms was full of servicemen: some in uniform, others in civilian clothes, all gathered for their veteran's association inaugural Christmas function. It was the last weekend before the holiday. The room was cheerful with sprigs of fresh holly decorating the tables and a roaring fire in the grate. Platters of Christmas sweetmeats were laid out, and hot cider and hot toddy were being made available at the bar.

Even Robert was there, chatting with some of the former officers from the North Riding Volunteers. Looking across at him, Matthew realised with a start that it was the first time he had ever seen Robert set foot in a pub.

"Have you ever witnessed Robert entering a pub?" He asked Evelyn.

"Not once!" he replied. "I've seen him at the Savoy a few times with my father, but that's quite a different scene to here!" They both grinned at each other.

"What were you apologising to him about in the car?" Evelyn asked.

"We had a disagreement over his land agent," Matthew sighed. "Jarvis seems to take forever to do what I consider simple tasks, like following up on tenants in arrears. And Robert always seems reluctant to push him. Guess I tried telling him what to do, and you can imagine how that went down."

"I can indeed," Evelyn raised his eyebrows.

"Mary didn't have much sympathy of course and told me I'd better front up with solutions that didn't involve throwing the tenants out in mid-winter if I was going to dare to criticise. So I thought I'd better apologise because, damn it, I don't have solutions. Well, not yet," Matthew went on.

"I'm surprised Mary didn't offer you some ideas," Evelyn said thoughtfully. "She's got a good head on her. And she knows the people and the properties."

"Mary has a difficult relationship with her father when it comes to the estate," Matthew replied. "She expects that her father won't listen to her, and therefore she will often keep quiet rather than share her view. I don't see that changing unless she feels she has a legitimate role and one that her father accepts."

"It doesn't surprise me, to be honest," Evelyn said, remembering. "Before you arrived, Robert put her cousin Patrick's ideas ahead of hers, and he was nowhere near Mary's intellectual equal! Arrogant playboy if there ever was," Evelyn snorted. "He would have been the ruin of the place!" He paused and shook his head. "And at the same time, Robert and Cora were trying to force her to marry him as well! She got very hurt by how Robert treated her during that period."

"And then after he perished, I turned up claiming the Earldom, a middle-class lawyer from Manchester with far too high an opinion of myself!" Matthew smirked.

Evelyn laughed. "You two certainly had a wrong-footed start!"

"And it wasn't helped since that Robert has never made a secret of wanting to hear my ideas in preference to his daughter's, as he'd done likewise with Patrick by the sounds," Matthew finished solemnly. "Women don't get a fair deal, you know."

"You'll be chaining yourself to a fence next, with comments like that!" Evelyn grinned.

"Watch it. I just might," Matthew said irreverently. He took a sip of his whisky and then helped himself some cheese and cake from the platter.

"Changing the subject, Evelyn," he said, surveying the slice of Wensleydale he held in one hand and the slice of fruitcake he held in his other, "Why is it that Yorkshiremen eat their cake with cheese?"

Evelyn snorted. "I wouldn't have a clue. It's just what one does at Christmastime! You'd have to ask someone with a better grasp of culinary tradition. Mrs Patmore perhaps?"

"I do quite like the combination," Matthew said. "But eaten one after the other. Not together like you do."

"You must be from Manchester!" Evelyn grinned. "But I must confess my father prefers to eat them separately too!"

He looked up and saw two men making their way slowly through the crowd toward their table, one leading the other who was clearly blind. "Matthew, who are those two?" he asked in a low voice.

"Do you know Sybil's nurse friends, Helen and Winifred Clark, the sisters who work at Downton hospital? They are their brothers," Matthew replied recognising them at once. "Frank is the older. He was wounded at Passchendaele. Edwin is the younger."

They made room for them at their table, a soldier at the adjacent table immediately offering his chair when he saw Frank leaning on a crutch. Frank muttered "thank you" and his brother guided him onto the seat. Matthew introduced them both to Evelyn.

They had been talking a while when Matthew felt a tap on his shoulder. He glanced up and saw it was Charlie Connell. "Captain Crawley," he said. "Not sure if you know me friend Tim, it's his first meeting," he said, and Matthew picked up just the slightest hint of anxiety in his voice. "So I thought I best introduce you, just in case."

Matthew spun his chair around and realised at once that the young man standing with Charlie was Timothy Bennett, the postmistress's son. Well, the tall athletic figure belonged to Timothy Bennett, as did the fine features of the left half of his face. Pity about the right half. The Hun had taken most of that, leaving behind a cratered and misshapen mess of skin and scar tissue, and a hole where his ear used to be. Matthew had to fight to keep both his voice and his expression even when he greeted the young man.

The haunted look in Mrs Bennett's face when she talked about her son came back to him all of a sudden. _"Minor injury…"_ she had called it. _Well, you could call it that if you were completely cynical,_ he supposed. The man still had both his eyes, even though the right one was partially obscured by scar tissue. And his jaw was intact, although heavily scarred. But minor? Really? Perhaps that was how she coped. But then she wasn't coping, was she. That look… the sadness that never really left her face. Her handsome son lost somewhere in the war. And this disfigured, visibly less confident and shaky version returned to her.

He turned to Evelyn and introduced him, fighting to suppress the wave of anger, despair and revulsion that had reared up and now threatened to engulf him.

Evelyn seemed to sense Matthew's struggle and immediately took charge of the conversation.

"Very pleased you could make it," he said warmly. "It's surprising just how many around here have served. We've had more and more each meeting. And very nice to meet the postmistress's son!" he added with a smile. "Mrs Bennett is well known to all of us of course!"

Evelyn motioned Edwin and Frank then and asked if they were acquainted. They weren't, so he introduced them, adding, "Help yourselves to something to eat fellows. Matthew, how about you get us all some drinks?"

"Of course!" Matthew managed to say. He asked them all what they wanted and then negotiated his way slowly around the crowded tables and across to the bar. He was grateful for Evelyn's perceptiveness in giving him an out and annoyed at his own discomposure.

"Matthew," Robert said, appearing beside him. "You getting more drinks for the lads?" he gestured back to Evelyn and the group of men sitting with him. "I can give you a hand back with them," he added.

Matthew nodded. "I am," he said tightly. "But I also need a moment. Tim Bennett's just turned up. Robert, he's…" and his voice shook."

Robert gave a quick glance back, and when he turned to Matthew again, his face was stricken. "The poor lad," he shook his head. "This trench fighting. Oh dear."

He looked at Matthew closely and put his hand on his shoulder. "Matthew, are you all right?"

Matthew shook his head. "Feel sick…"

"Robert knelt down and looked at him. "Matthew. Stay with us. What does Isobel say to do? Focus on what she has told you."

He took Matthew's hands. Robert's hands were cold and wet from the glass he had just placed on the table alongside them. The coldness jolted Matthew back from somewhere. That's right, he was in the pub. He took a deep breath. "Your glass. Can I hold it," he mumbled.

Robert passed it to him, and the cold wetness was oddly soothing. He rubbed his hands against the glass and took another deep breath.

"Beer," Robert said, keeping his eyes on Matthew's. "Not normally my drink," he smirked, and that got a smile out of Matthew. "A shout from one of the lads. I couldn't possibly refuse. And I must say it tasted quite good with a slice of cake and cheese!" Another smile. That was good.

"And tell me," he continued. "How did Mary's shopping go? Did she find a dress?" Mary. That got an even bigger smile, and Robert could see the colour coming back into Matthew's face.

"She did," Matthew managed to say. "She likes it. Won't tell me anymore though!"

"Lord Grantham," a deep voice behind them said. "Have this seat. I'm on my way," and one of the officers behind him pushed a chair across. Robert stood up and thanked him. He sat back down next to Matthew and was pleased to see him coming more fully to himself.

"You and Evelyn have done marvellously with this initiative, you know," he said. "The officers I was talking with who've just got back were thrilled there was somewhere they could go. Can't talk at home of course. But saying these weekly meetings are giving them a safety valve."

Matthew nodded, and then he straightened up and rubbed his face with his wet hands. He looked across at Robert, trying to calm his breathing.

"This is what happens, you know," Robert said quietly. "You think you're all right, then there's a reminder and it takes you off somewhere," he shook his head.

"But it's nothing to be ashamed of," he said looking steadily at his heir.

"Why can't I keep it together?" Matthew said his voice almost inaudible.

"You did. You managed to keep yourself here," Robert said firmly. "That's progress."

He was quiet a moment and then added, "And whilst Evelyn was calm this time and you weren't, there will be another time when he isn't and you will be. It's just the way it goes."

Matthew gave a deep sigh. "Thanks," he muttered. They sat quietly for a while. Finally, Matthew said, "I suppose we need to get those drinks."

Robert stood up. "I'll order them. What did the lads want?"

"One hot cider, three ales," Matthew replied. "And a whisky for Evelyn and I." He reached inside his uniform jacket and pulled out his billfold, passing Robert a pound note. "Here."

When they returned to the others with the tray of drinks, Tim Bennett was deep in conversation with Frank, and the other three were telling jokes. Matthew introduced Robert to the brothers, Frank and Edwin, the only two Robert hadn't met before, and the rest of the evening passed very pleasantly.

In the car on the way home, Evelyn said, "Matthew, had you known Tim Bennett before?"

"Yes," Matthew sighed. "A handsome and popular young man in Downton. Always had a bevvy of local girls hanging around the post office, vying for his attention!"

"No wonder it was a shock to you then," Evelyn said grimly. "He said a bullet took off his ear and grazed the side of his face. An inch further in and he would have been a goner."

"How is he in himself?" Matthew asked.

"Well, he didn't say, but Charlie told me quietly that this is the first time he's actually been out, apart from going to work," Evelyn replied. "And it sounds like that's been made easier as he's not the only one at his work wearing the war on his face," Evelyn rolled his eyes. "Charlie said he really struggles though, and his mother's not too good about it at all."

"No, she's not," Matthew added solemnly. "I've seen it in how she talks about him."

Evelyn sighed. "Poor chap." He was silent a moment and then added, a little more brightly, "He and Frank hit it off well though. Talked non-stop."

"Frank can't see him," Matthew observed wryly.

Evelyn shrugged. "Well if that fact gave the chap a little more confidence to make an effort, well that can't be a bad thing, can it?" And Matthew had to agree.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Arriving home mid-evening from the hospital, Mary realised with a start that it was the third time in the same number of days she had seen Sybil come out of the garage that housed Robert's two motor vehicles. And this time she'd seen her farewelling Branson and was shocked to see that the interaction between them showed quite a degree of familiarity.

She hailed her, and as they walked together along the gravel drive to the front door, she asked her about it.

"Sybil," she asked firmly. "What is it with you and Branson?" Sybil gave a start and put her hand to her mouth. It gave it all away as far as Mary was concerned.

"Sybil, what are you doing?" she hissed, stopping to look at her. "He's Papa's Chauffeur!"

"We haven't done anything," Sybil said quickly. "I never would, you know that."

"Sybil, whilst I would never doubt your honour, my concern is that you are entertaining a friendship with him in the first place! Darling, he is not one of us!" Mary beseeched.

"He's very interesting. I like talking to him. We talk politics, you know!" Sybil said defensively. "Far more interesting than those bores I had to put up with during my Season. All that prattle about tennis and polo and the stock market. Hmmph."

"Sybil. You need to be very careful. This could all end very badly for you," Mary said seriously. "Please, at least reassure me that you will make an effort to meet some more suitable gentlemen!" she implored. "What about someone like Charles Blake? You seemed to get on well with him at Evelyn's party. And he has similar politics to you."

"He may well be a fine man. But I do enjoy Tom's company," Sybil said stubbornly.

"So he's Tom now! Oh my dear," Mary said, dismayed. "And who else knows of this friendship?"

"No one," Sybil lied, not wanting to implicate Matthew and Isobel, the two that knew for definite that there was… something.

The two of them regarded each other impassively. Finally, Mary said, "Why do I get the feeling you really haven't heard what I've said?" She shook her head. "Just promise me you won't do anything rash!"

Sybil looked at her steadily but didn't reply, leaving her older sister disconcerted. They entered the house in uncomfortable silence, quickly going their separate ways to dress for dinner.

0-0-0-0-0-0

"Just where are Mary and Matthew?" Cora said looking out to the car as Violet made her entrance through the front door on Sunday afternoon.

"They chose to walk home," Violet answered. "Far from appreciating the chance to be warm after four winters at the Front, Matthew seems to find every excuse possible to embrace the cold!" she said her lips twitching ever so slightly as she walked into the small library, Cora and Robert following.

"How very irresponsible," Cora fussed. "An invalid shouldn't be out in this weather!"

Violet sat down next to the fireplace and laid her stick against the arm of the chair. She raised her eyebrows at Cora.

"I hate to disabuse you of that notion since you seem to cling to it in the manner of a limpet to a stone, but Matthew is no longer an invalid," she said firmly.

"Of course he is!" Cora burst out. "Confined to that chair. Unable to do anything for himself!"

Violet's eyebrows raised even higher. "As I understand it, he is back earning a living! And involved in charitable pursuits to the betterment of many in this district," she said severely. "Hardly the actions of a man unable to do anything for himself!

"And besides," she added. "That young man, despite his incapacity, saved me from a very nasty fall this morning."

"Just what exactly do you mean?" Cora asked, frowning.

"I tripped on the rug at Isobel's. Matthew caught me and helped me to right myself," she sniffed at Cora. "He may not be walking, but he certainly has his strength back."

Cora opened and shut her mouth. Violet and Robert regarded her impassively.

"None of this means that he is the right man to marry my daughter!" Cora burst out.

"Oh, you don't see honour in your daughter marrying a war hero, a decorated Captain for god's sake, who has been wounded in the service of his country?" Robert said angrily. "A man any woman would be extremely proud of! And he is my heir! Sometimes I wonder if I even know you, Cora," he said frowning.

Cora looked away from Robert and turned her attention to Violet instead. "Violet. Surely you see that this can be nothing more than a foolhardy union."

"I am with Robert on this matter," Violet said evenly. "I see a union between two young people who love each other very much," she said lifting her chin. "And if you must know, it is a union that I have actively encouraged."

Cora gasped. "I cannot believe that you both do not see this as it really is," she said in disgust.

"Mary has her blinkers on. She can't see it yet, but long term he cannot possibly make her happy!

"I'd much rather see her in a relationship with someone like Charles Blake. She seemed to be getting on very nicely with him at Evelyn's party," she paused, and then added, "Perhaps I should invite him back."

"I'm sure Mary **and** Matthew would like that very much," Robert said, fixing Cora with a hard stare. "Charles was very taken with Matthew, and the work he was doing. Oh, and he also told Matthew how pleased he was to see Mary happy! To quote his exact words _"You are both extremely well matched!"_

"Matthew cannot give her children!" Cora said tightly.

"Isobel tells me they are already talking about adoption," Violet said drily. "With so many orphaned from this war I can't see that being a difficult undertaking!"

"But he can't be a proper husband to her!" Cora spat.

Violet fixed her daughter-in-law with a pitying stare.

"Oh my dear," she said, with more than a little sarcasm. "Is that your real concern with this union? Surely you are well aware that there is more than one marital act that can bring a woman pleasure! Or has your own marriage really been that limited?"

Cora stared at Violet in shock.

Robert put his head in his hands and groaned.

0-0-0-0-0-0

"It is wonderful that Isobel wants you to have your father's wedding ring," Mary said fondly as she and Matthew made their way up the oak lined drive. "And unusual for a man to have one, at least among the men I am used to. It will come up very nicely with a bit of attention from a goldsmith! And that just leaves me to get sorted."

"A trip to York that I am most looking forward to," Matthew said smiling across at her. "Let us arrange it for later in January when things are a little quieter. I'll see if we can book Branson in to take us up for a day."

Matthew mentioning Branson reminded Mary of the conversation with Sybil the night before. She frowned. "Speaking of Branson, I'm a bit worried about this friendship that has developed between him and my sister," she said. "They seem a little too close!"

Matthew glanced at her but said nothing as they continued along the drive.

"It really isn't a good idea," she went on, shaking her head. "It could end very badly for her! I wonder whether I should make more of an effort to acquaint her with someone like Charles. They got on quite well at Evelyn's party." She looked at Matthew, who looked steadfastly ahead.

"Do I take it, from your silence, that you support this burgeoning friendship?" Mary said in disbelief. Matthew continued to say nothing.

"Well?" she asked him, starting to get annoyed.

He stopped wheeling his chair and turned it to face her. "Mary," he said. "You and I will always disagree on matters such as this," he said shortly. "So I'd rather we didn't talk of them," and with that, he turned his chair around again and carried on.

Mary stood still for a moment, thinking. She wanted to retort but decided against it. She knew what Matthew would say. What was she, born into the aristocracy, doing with him, a middle-class lawyer? How was that different? In Mary's view, it was very different to Sybil and Branson, but she knew her view wouldn't hold with Matthew. She sighed. He was right. It was too fraught a conversation to have with him. She hurried on to catch him up and they progressed in silence.

The sun came out from between the clouds, its weak rays bathing the trunks of the bare oak trees in a silver-yellow light. The beauty of it soothed her.

"Matthew," she said suddenly. "Let's go via the path to the lake, shall we? I'm enjoying this light."

He smiled at her then, and as they left the drive for the paved path through to the lawns and the lake beyond, they started to talk, Matthew telling her who he had caught up with at the veteran's function the previous evening.

They stopped at their favourite seat and took in the wintery scene. The sun had disappeared again. Ice was forming at the water's edge, and there was a tendril of mist drifting over the main part of the lake. The bare trees on the hillside above were stark against the silver-grey sky. It was eerily quiet and still.

Matthew shook his arms out and gingerly patted his right arm.

"Are you all right?" Mary asked.

"Think I might have pulled a muscle when I caught Violet this morning," he said ruefully.

"She was lucky you were right next to her when she tripped!" Mary said.

"And lucky the brake was on, or both of us would have ended up in a heap on the floor," Matthew answered. He flexed his arm. "It's not too bad, but I'll have to be careful not to overdo things in the session tomorrow."

He was silent a moment, and then he absent-mindedly rubbed his leg.

Mary noticed, and sat down on the bench. "Matthew. You are rubbing your leg. I've not seen you do that," she said slowly. "Not since…"

"The thing is," he said looking at her with a frown. "When Violet fell against me I felt it almost properly. And now I can feel pins and needles."

"Has it happened before?" Mary asked, looking at him intently.

"Well, these months you've been away, my sense of touch has improved somewhat. And last week, Sybil had us playing rugby, well the version of rugby that wounded men play," he smirked, "and I fell out of my chair. And I felt it pretty strongly when I hit the ground then too."

"You didn't tell me you had a fall!" Mary was horrified.

He grinned at her. "Because I knew you'd react like this! It's not the first time and it won't be the last."

"Oh my dear," Mary shook her head. "Perhaps it is better you don't tell me then!"

Matthew raised his eyebrows. "I would think so!"

"Have you told Major Clarkson?" Mary asked.

"Yes. He said it could mean something, but he can't be definite. I'll have to wait until I get to see Dr Jones."

"When is that? You've been waiting a very long time!" Mary said frowning.

"Well, it's going to be even longer. I had a letter last week saying they need to delay the appointment even further," there was a touch of frustration in his tone. "It's now looking like a few weeks after our wedding. He is apparently overrun with more critical cases than mine."

"Much as it doesn't help you, it's really not surprising," Mary said sadly. "So many badly wounded men in the aftermath of this war. And if their situation is more life threatening, of course, they need the priority."

"I suppose," Matthew conceded, and then he shook himself and sighed. "You are right, of course. I can't really complain, can I, with these little improvements continuing. And with all that, we have to look forward to!"

Mary gazed at him so warmly that his body tingled. Oh God, she was beautiful. He leant across and kissed her tenderly on her strawberry coloured lips.

"What was that for?" Mary said smiling when they broke apart.

"Because I love you," he said, his voice husky and his blue eyes sparkling. "And because you make me happy. And much more able to deal with whatever comes."

"Oh my darling," Mary said, a hint of emotion in her voice. They kissed again, a deeper, longer and more passionate kiss. Enjoying the warmth. The softness. The taste.

Matthew hummed with pleasure. "If it wasn't so cold…"

"It's just as well it is, or we'd be up to things that should wait till we're properly married!" Mary said, her voice dropping an octave.

"That can't come soon enough," Matthew said, reluctantly straightening up. He put his hands on his wheels. "But it really is a little too cold now!" He sighed. "Let's get moving again, shall we?" and with the shadows starting to lengthen, they made their way back to the Abbey.


	27. Chapter 27

It was the Friday before Christmas and Mary and Matthew had just finished a series of errands in the village.

Their first stop had been the haberdashery, to select material for a Christmas gift to Daisy: if she were to attend their wedding she would need a new dress. Mary had found a soft green fabric that they both agreed would suit her very well, and Matthew intended to include a sum of money with the parcel, to pay for a dressmaker and some accessories.

Next up had been the post office. The Christmas parcel to Alex in France contained a note from Matthew telling him of his engagement to Mary and asking Alex to be his best man. Mary had a parcel to Rosamund, and there was a letter from them both to Eddie congratulating him on his reappointment as a barrister at his former law firm in London. Edward had been back in London almost three weeks.

Mrs Bennett had a question for Matthew when it was time to pay for the postage. "Captain Crawley," she began, "Tim mentioned a blind lad he met at the pub who used to be a switchboard operator. Frank someone? He urged me to offer him a job. He knows I've an operator position come vacant you see," she explained.

"I'd be prepared to give him a go, but I'd need your help. I've no idea what a blind man might need to run the switchboard when he can't see the plugs."

"Are you sure, Mrs Bennett?" Matthew answered, pleased and surprised.

"Well, it seems only fair to give him a trial. And if it helps someone friendly with my Tim…" her voice trailed off.

"Of course," Matthew said kindly. "I'm seeing Mr Molesley this morning. We have got a connection with St Dunstan's. I'll get him to follow up."

"Who are St Dunstan's?" Mrs Bennett asked.

"They are a rehabilitation hospital that specialises in helping out blind ex-servicemen," Matthew explained. "And from recollection, telephony is one of the areas in which they offer training to their patients. With a bit of luck, we can get some good advice from them."

"Oh!" Mrs Bennett replied. "That sounds quite encouraging. And I am impressed you even know what is out there!" she said.

"You can thank Mr Molesley for that," Matthew said. "He's the one who's done most of the detective work!"

"What was that about?" Mary asked when they left the post office.

"You know Frank Clark? the Clark nurses' brother?" Matthew said.

"Oh, yes," Mary answered, remembering. "The brother who was injured."

"She wants to offer him an operator position. She's had one come vacant. She wants our help to set things up for him to manage the switchboard when he can't see it."

"I hope it works out," Mary said fervently. "We're going to have to cut the nursing staff by 80 percent when we lose our military hospital status in February! At the most, only one of the sisters will retain a position, and it's unlikely to be full time."

"Exactly. And there are three younger siblings in that household in addition to the four adult children," Matthew said grimly. "Edwin's got occasional work as a farmhand, but that's not enough for all of them to subsist on."

"And their parents are long gone, of course," Mary added solemnly. They were both silent for a moment, thinking of the Clark family and then Matthew asked, "Remind me. Where are you off to next?"

"Meeting Sybil and Edith at the tea shop. Edith has been asked to do another article on shellshock, as follow up to the two she's done already. She wants our help with some ideas. And Sybil is trying to prepare for her admission interview for the London School of Medicine for Women. There are three quite formidable lady doctors she must appear before to put her case. She's going to share what she intends to say with us, and see how we might improve on it!" Mary smiled.

"It is a feather in her cap to have got through to the interview stage," Matthew sounded impressed. "And here's hoping they all see her potential," he paused. "And do tell me, just how is Robert coping with Edith continuing with this writing?" he raised an eyebrow in a comical expression.

"Well, after that first time quite a while back, when he shouted at her for not obeying him, he actually took the time to read what she had written. And of course in no surprise to the rest of us, he actually liked it, and his opposition quietly disappeared!" Mary's lips twitched. "In fact, the other day he even asked, _"and will you be keeping at this writing once the convalescent home closes?"_ That left Edith speechless for quite a few moments!"

Matthew chuckled. "I'm very glad to hear that!" He took her hand and kissed it. "Have a pleasant morning with your sisters. I'm off to catch up with Molesley now. I'll see you back home after lunch."

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After he and Mary parted, Matthew headed to Crawley house, taking the shortcut through the service lane behind the shops. He was a few hundred yards up the lane when he heard a loud scream. It came again. A gut-wrenching, terror-filled scream. He started, his heart beginning to race, and he looked around for whom it was.

Further along, the lane from him was a young girl, crouched in the middle of a large muddy puddle where the surface had broken. He wheeled closer and saw that she was clutching her knee, a steady stream of blood running down her leg and into the muddy water around her feet.

Looking more closely, he could see that the cut was ragged and deep. It would need stitching he thought with concern.

He called out to her. "Hello! Are you all right? Would you like a hand?" She looked up at him, a beseeching, frightened look. "Can I fetch your Mother? He asked. "Is she nearby?" she shook her head, and her lower lip wobbled.

He held out his hand. "Can you walk across to me then?"

She screamed again, and shook her head, seemingly paralysed by fear.

His mind was working. Her reaction was somehow out of proportion to the injury unless she had done some other damage he could not yet see. _It's reminded her of something,_ he told himself. _Something far worse._ He had seen that before of course. This big reaction... when just reminded... Yes. He gave a shudder. He knew what that was about.

"What's your name?" he asked gently.

"Molly," she whispered, her frightened eyes still on him.

"Molly," he said. "My name's Mr Matthew. I'm sure you can walk to me if you try! How about it?" he said encouragingly, hoping to coax her from her uncomfortable crouched position in the mud and wet. She started to stand, but the motion of putting weight on the injured knee clearly pained her, and she stopped and screamed again, shaking her head.

Matthew looked around, but no one else was about. _Damn,_ he thought. He had to get her to someone who could help, and he could see it was going to require him getting very wet. _Get a grip Matthew, it's only mud and water. You've seen far worse,_ he told himself, and he rolled the chair straight into the puddle, gritting his teeth as the filthy water splashed up all over his clothes. He reached her and said gently. "Will you let me help you?" she nodded her eyes still wide with terror, and he heard an almost imperceptible 'yes.'

"All right then. I'm going to lift you up and then I'll take you down to Dr Clarkson. And we will see if we can get hold of your Mother for you. Are you ready?" Once again she nodded, and he grasped her under her arms and swung her up onto his lap. She was quite heavy, and yet again, he said a silent 'thanks' to Sybil and her gruelling physical training.

He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a clean handkerchief. Folding it up, he said "Molly, I'm going to put this on your knee. It's important we stop that bleeding straight away."

He placed the makeshift pad over the wound and asked her to put her hand on it to hold it in place. She began to whimper loudly again, clearly not wanting to touch the wound.

"Molly, you just need to hold it till we get to the Doctor because I need both my hands to move this chair. Let me show you how all right?" His gentle words seemed to reassure her, and he took her hand in his, and guided it gently to the knee, placing her hand over the pad, freeing his up.

"That's the way," he said encouragingly. She gave a small nod and he said quickly, "Now hold on, and we'll be at the Doctor soon." It was hard work to move the chair through the mud and gravel, and once or twice he worried he would get stuck, but finally, they were clear of the puddle and moving was much easier. In five minutes he had reached Downton Hospital entrance and Dr Clarkson's office in which was in the next town block.

He went straight inside, uncomfortably aware how much mud and water got tracked in with them. Mrs Bartlet, Dr Clarkson's regular nurse was at the desk.

"Oh my goodness," she said, taking in first the makeshift pad on the knee that was now completely soaked in blood, then the tear streaked youngster, and finally the very wet and muddy state of both the youngster and Captain Crawley who had the girl perched in his lap.

"She fell in that hole they still haven't fixed in the service lane, and she's got a nasty cut on her knee which looks like it might need to be stitched," Matthew explained in lieu of a greeting. "Is Dr Clarkson about?"

"He's with another patient at the moment, but I'll get started on cleaning it up straight away," she said. "Come on through. She led them into a nearby examination room and began filling a basin with water.

Turning back to them both, she knelt down and said kindly, "It's Molly isn't it?" clearly familiar with her. Molly nodded shyly.

"Molly, if you'll just hop off Captain Crawley's lap and sit on this chair for me, we'll have you cleaned up nice and quick."

But Molly wouldn't move. She clung onto Matthew and began to shake.

"Looks like she's staying right here," Matthew said raising an eyebrow and nodding to Mrs Bartlet to signal that he didn't mind.

"Are you sure?" she frowned at him, concerned at his soaked and muddy clothes.

"It's no problem. He gave her a wry grin. "I've had almost four years of mud and filth. This is mild in comparison!"

Her mouth twitched, and she bustled around finding the necessary supplies to start cleaning the wound. Captain Crawley impressed her. Molly was clearly a stranger to him, and yet here he was showing her every kindness, the mess and inconvenience apparently no bother at all.

As Mrs Bartlet went to dab at her knee Molly wriggled and cringed and began to cry.

"Shh shh," Matthew tried to soothe her, but Molly was terrified and continued to wriggle in his lap.

_She needs a distraction,_ he thought to himself. Looking around, the first thing he noticed was a pretty row of embroidery around the neck of her dress. Although threadbare, the dress had been beautifully made. "You have a lovely dress Molly," he said kindly. "Did you mother make it?"

Molly turned to look at him, and for the first time, gave a small smile. Mrs Bartlet took that as a cue to start again with her dabbing, and this time Molly held still, keeping her eyes on Matthew's face.

"Your Mother must be very clever," he went on. Her smile widened, and she said with a hint of pride in her voice, "She makes all our clothes!"

Feeling more confident, and aware he needed to continue with the distracting, he said "I like the material. It's a lovely colour."

"Mam made it from a curtain," Molly said unexpectedly. "She made Ryan, my brother, a waistcoat too!" Matthew and Mrs Bartlet raised eyes each other over Molly's head, and then Matthew said kindly,

"Your mother sounds like a very resourceful person, Molly. You and your brother are lucky to have her aren't you?"

Molly's smile lit up her face this time, and Matthew was finally able to look at her properly, taking in the long black hair tied in a braid, and green eyes that crinkled at the corners when she smiled. The crinkly eyes stirred a memory. Molly was reminding him of someone. He thought for a moment, and then asked: "Molly, if you don't mind me asking, what is your second name?"

"Pearson," she answered. "Molly Pearson."

Matthew froze. Jack. Her father was Jack Pearson. He was confused. He hadn't known Jack was from Downton. Weren't they a Manchester family? Yet the likeness was unmistakable. She had Jack's eyes. Memories flooded back. The songs Jack had them singing when the lads needed cheering up. The jokes when they had needed distracting. That crinkly-eyed look that always following the punchline.

Ypres. Passchendaele. That was where he had died, a bullet to the head on the last day their regiment had been stationed there. Five of them hadn't made it through that final push. Jack amongst them. He suppressed a shudder, acutely aware it was Jack's daughter sitting on his lap.

"Molly… he started gently… your father..."

"Corporal J. F Pearson. Killed in action at Ypres, 21 August 1917" Molly rattled off her eyes suddenly dark.

"Molly," Matthew started, at a loss at what to say. "I'm so sorry," and he gave her shoulder a gentle pat.

He shared another fleeting look with Mrs Bartlet over Molly's head, both of them alarmed at her recitation, clearly word for word from the telegram the War Office would have sent to the family.

She said gently, "Molly dear, as soon as we've got you ready for Dr Clarkson, I'm going to send for your mother. Am I right that she's helping Mrs Dunne in the haberdashery this morning?" Molly nodded.

They were all silent for a moment, Mrs Bartlet continuing to clean the wound, and then Molly asked timidly, "Mr Matthew, you were at the war, weren't you?" Matthew nodded. "Did you know my Dad?"

"As a matter of fact I did Molly," he said quietly. "He was in my regiment." He paused and thought for a moment wondering how much, and exactly what he should say. Finally, he said "You know, I'd really like to talk with you about your Dad, but I think it might be nicer if we did that with your Mother. Would you like me to talk with her and make a time for us to do this, perhaps when your knee is better?"

"I'd really like that," Molly whispered.

Mrs Bartlet looked at them, a lump forming in her throat on hearing Captain Crawley's offer. She knew Molly's family, knew of the struggles they had had, both before the war, and then after Jack had died. _Only good can come of this,_ she suddenly thought. Captain Crawley would see to that, she was sure.

"There you are, Molly!" she said finally. "We've got your knee cleaned up and ready for Dr Clarkson. It's time we got the rest of you cleaned up, don't you think?" She held out her hand, "how about you come with me to the washroom and we'll deal with the mud. We need to give Captain Crawley a chance to clean up too."

"But... I...," Molly looked from Mrs Bartlet to Matthew and back again, clearly reluctant to leave the safety of Matthew's arms.

"Molly, it's fine," he said quickly, making a snap decision. "I'm not going anywhere. I'll stay here with you if you like until your Mother arrives."

Her smile and the shy "I'd like that," said it all, and this time she went willingly to Mrs Bartlet.

"Captain Crawley, the examination room next door is empty. It has a sink, and you'll find a clean towel and a wash cloth on the dresser," she said as she departed the room, Molly holding her hand.

Matthew wheeled slowly to the next room, thinking. Things were clearly not good for Molly's family. How could they be – the war pension they would be receiving was meagre.

He swirled the washcloth in the water and wiped his face, enjoying the soothing coolness. Pulling a comb from his breast pocket, he used the mirror above the sink to tidy his hair, and he towelled off his sleeves and trousers as best he could.

As he left, he glanced at the clock on the wall and was concerned at how late it was. Wheeling out to the front desk, he found Mrs Bartlet busy with some paperwork, and Molly seated in the waiting area, looking out the window.

Mrs Bartlet looked up at him and said "Captain Crawley, Molly's mother can't get here for another half hour. I've got a cup of tea on for you, thought you might need one by now!" she said giving him a smile.

"That would be wonderful thank you," Matthew replied. "Would you mind if I use the telephone? I've just realised the time."

He called through to Crawley house and rearranged his meeting with Molesley for the following day. Then he called the Abbey, and Carson picked up. He quickly explained that he was still in the village and could Branson please pick him up in a half hour or so from the Downton hospital instead of Crawley house as previously planned. No, he hadn't been hurt, but he had been helping a girl who was. No, it wasn't one of the family, but actually the daughter of a fellow soldier. Yes, he'd give him the whole story when he was back.

The hot tea was wonderfully restorative, and he quickly drained his cup, and Mrs Bartlet poured him another.

"Are you all right in the chair? Mrs Bartlet asked, "Or would you like to lie down for a bit?" She knew he was still a patient at the convalescent home.

"I'll be all right for a while yet," Matthew replied. "But thank you for asking."

He wheeled over to be closer to Molly, wanting to find out a little more about her and her family, but Molly had a question for him first.

"Mr Matthew," she said looking at him puzzled. "Why is it you need to be in a wheelchair when you are so very strong?"

"Hmm, now that's a good question Molly," he said slowly, wondering how to answer it. Finally, he said, "It's like this. You know how your Dad died at the war? Well, while I was very lucky that I didn't die in the war, I did get hurt. A bomb blew up near where I was. The force of it broke my spine. That stopped the nerves to my legs working. But lucky for me, everything else was all right. So the rest of me, like my arms can still be strong just not my legs."

"Oh," said Molly nodding. "We learned about the spine and nerves at school," she added to show she understood. "It must have been a very big bomb to do that," she said, her eyes wide. "Did it hurt?"

"Unfortunately it was," Matthew replied. "And yes, it did hurt for quite a long time. But it doesn't anymore."

Molly was silent a moment, and then she looked up at him with a sudden smile.

"I'm really glad you were lucky Mr Matthew. You are very kind and I'm very happy it was you who found me in the puddle," she gave him a big smile, and both Matthew and Mrs Bartlet couldn't help laughing at her reference to the puddle.

They continued to chat, and Matthew found out from Molly that she was, indeed, at the local school, and so was her brother Ryan. He liked to play cricket, and both of them liked their lessons. Yes, she had sat her examinations and it was very exciting as Ripon Grammar had offered her a place from next summer. She was a bit worried though, as her Mam had said she might need to go out to work instead, as money was tight. She wasn't sure she wanted to do that, but Mam would know what was best.

Molly's mother finally arrived, and barely a moment later, Matthew heard a familiar 'toot' from the street, which was his cue that Branson had arrived with the car and was now waiting outside.

She was a tall, strapping woman, and Matthew could see that it was from her that Molly had got her strong build. Jack, he remembered, had been quite slight in comparison.

Mrs Bartlet greeted her and quickly explained what had happened, how Captain Crawley had found Molly and brought her in and looked after her, and that Dr Clarkson was now ready to examine her.

Mrs Pearson turned to Matthew. Confused by his wheelchair, she wondered if she had mixed him up with a patient, and she looked uncertainly back at Mrs Bartlet.

"Yes, that's him," she smiled reassuringly. "Wounded at Lys," she explained in a low tone and nodding Mrs Pearson turned around again and walked across to talk to Matthew. They exchanged greetings and she took a seat beside him. Molly scrambled up beside her.

"Captain Crawley, I don't know how to thank you for helping my Molly. She's not good in these situations you know," she said, a shadow crossing her face. "And here she is cheery and calm and Mrs Bartlet says you were the one who found her and then made things all right!" She paused and looked at him earnestly. "And it can't have been easy either," she shook her head. "Not with you being wounded yourself and all," she swallowed.

"I was very glad I could assist," Matthew said. "Truly! And Molly and I have had a great conversation. She is a real credit to you, Mrs Pearson!"

He stopped for a minute, wondering how to raise the subject of Jack. Finally, he ventured cautiously, "Mrs Pearson, I, I knew Jack. I'd like to see you again if I may. Perhaps we could talk about him. Only if you wish, of course."

"You knew Jack?" Her eyes widened and she put a shaking hand to her mouth.

Matthew nodded. "He was in my regiment. I'm originally from Manchester."

"Oh! Oh. Of course," she murmured, a far-away look coming across her face as she put two and two together, remembering Jack mentioning a Captain Crawley in some of his letters.

She gave herself a little shake and looked at Matthew. "I would really like that, well all of us, Molly and Ryan too."

"How can I contact you to arrange a time?" Matthew asked.

"Through Mrs Dunne at the haberdashery is easiest, she replied. "She has a telephone."

"Very well," he nodded and smiled at her. "My ride arrived a few minutes ago, and I must be off," he said putting his hands on his wheels.

Molly stood up, suddenly realising he was leaving. She threw her arms around Matthew. "Mr Matthew, thank you so much. I am so pleased I can see you again soon, and I promise I'll be still for Dr Clarkson," she added bravely.

Matthew was touched by her show of affection and he felt a rush of warmth towards the young girl. "I know you will Molly," he smiled.

He nodded at Mrs Pearson and extended his hand, which she took and clasped between both of hers. "A pleasure to meet you, Mrs Pearson,"

"And you likewise, Captain Crawley," Mrs Pearson echoed, and then Matthew wheeled himself out. Mrs Bartlet followed.

"Look after yourself Captain Crawley," she said after she and Branson had got him safely into the car. "Make sure you get yourself a hot bath!" Matthew thanked her and settled back in the seat.

"What happened to you?" Branson said glancing round. "You and the Chair don't mind me saying… you're both a bloody mess!"

Matthew grinned. "I had an argument with a puddle," he said to Branson's chuckles. "Well not exactly. A girl, who as it turns out, is the daughter of a chap in my regiment had hurt herself pretty badly and it was her who was stuck. I was just the rescuer! Trouble was it entailed getting soaked in the process."

"Lucky girl by the sounds," said Branson conversationally. Matthew was silent a moment. "Not so sure about that. Her Dad died at Passchendaele. From what she shared with me while we were at the Doctor's, the family has fallen on hard times since."

"They won't be the only ones," said Branson shaking his head.

"No. The war pension is not enough for people to rely upon. And if you've got children to provide for, well.." Matthew's voice tailed off.

"I'd like to help them, you know. I've just got to figure out a way."

"You being who you are, Sir, I know already that you will," said Branson flashing Matthew a wry smile in the rear vision mirror.


	28. Chapter 28

It was Christmas Eve. Mary had just finished tidying up the last of the pre-holiday paperwork at the hospital. She walked down the street to the haberdashery, to pick up the order for a bolt of cloth she had put in for Anna's present. She had already got her a silver bracelet when she was in London, but as was the tradition, material for a new uniform would also form part of her Christmas gift.

A tall, strapping woman she didn't recognise was behind the counter. Mary gave her name, and the woman went out the back to fetch her order. When she returned, she said, "Lady Mary, I hope you don't mind me asking, but are you Captain Crawley's fiancé?"

"Yes, I am," Mary replied. "Do you know Captain Crawley?"

"My late husband Jack Pearson served in his regiment. And Captain Crawley helped my daughter Molly recently when she had a fall," she replied.

"Oh, you are Molly's mother!" Mary said. "It's a great pleasure to meet you, Mrs Pearson. Matthew was very taken with her."

"The pleasure is all mine. Captain Crawley has a new fan! Molly won't stop talking about him," she smiled.

"How is her knee?" Mary enquired.

"The wound is healing, although it won't be until after the holiday that the stitches can come out," Mrs Pearson answered. "I cannot tell you how grateful she and I were for Captain Crawley's kindness."

Mary smiled and paid for the order.

"Has Captain Crawley been in contact to invite you for tea yet?" Mary asked.

"Yes he has, and I told him in no uncertain terms not to worry until after your wedding!" Mrs Pearson answered. She handed Mary the change and looked closely at the soft pleats on the dress she was wearing.

"Is that a Jeanne Paquin design?" she asked.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, it is," Mary said, surprised and impressed that she knew of the designer. "Are you interested in fashion?"

"Yes. Dressmaking has always been something I've enjoyed. And before Jack died, I liked to spend time designing as well," she sighed. "I was a great follower of Lucile. Now it's a lot harder to find the time, having to work and all," her eyes clouded for a moment. "At least here I get to see the new patterns and some of the magazines," she said, forcing a brighter note into her tone.

"Did you design the dress you have on?" Mary enquired; the garment was not a design she had seen before, yet it was stylish and flattering all the same.

Mrs Pearson blushed. "As a matter of fact, it is. I took my inspiration from Coco Chanel," she said a little shyly. "Some ladies think she is too mannish, but I like her simple but elegant styles."

"It is very nice!" Mary remarked.

"Thank you," Mrs Pearson replied.

Mary was quiet for a moment, and then she asked cautiously, "Mrs Pearson if I knew of someone needing a dress made up, would that be something you might be interested in doing, as long as it could fit in around your work here of course?"

The woman's face lit up. "Yes. I would enjoy that very much! And besides, this position is only two mornings a week, and I can make time for the work when the children are at school."

Mary reached into her purse and took out one of her visiting cards and passed it across to her.

"The person I am thinking of needs a new gown to attend a wedding. She is young and slight and will want something simple and unfussy. We'd supply the material for it. When you've determined what you think might be a fair price, and how long you would need to complete it, please telephone through to the Abbey and ask for me, or if I am not there, for my maid Mrs Bates."

Mrs Pearson said she would be in contact after the holiday break, and they continued to chat, discussing the newest fashions, and the changes the war had wrought on women's clothing.

When it came time to go, Mary said, "I wish you and your family a lovely Christmas Mrs Pearson. And I am very pleased that Molly's knee is getting better. I will let Captain Crawley know too."

0-0-0-0-0-0

"A letter for you, Lady Sybil," Carson said appearing in the dining room where she, Mary and Edith were breakfasting on a cold, snowy January morning.

Picking up the envelope, Sybil said, "Oh, it's my letter from the College of Medicine!"

She took the paper knife from its holder and quickly opened the envelope. She smoothed out the thin white paper of the letter within, and read it silently.

Edith and Mary looked on expectantly. Sybil finished reading the letter. She put it down, looking serious and thoughtful.

"Well, what does it say?" Edith asked eagerly.

"It's good and bad news," Sybil replied slowly.

"The bad news is that they want to see more evidence I could cope with the academic work required. That's despite me having passed my nursing exams with good marks," she sighed. "They recommend that should I still wish to pursue a career in medicine, that I complete some preparatory courses in science and mathematics somewhere like Bedford College, and then reapply."

"Oh! What a shame!" said Edith. "And it seemed so promising!"

"Well, it was always going to be difficult," Sybil replied. "They only offer a limited number of places, and there are many women out there with a lot more schooling than I keen on medicine. I'm not the only one who has been getting a taste of medical work through the war!"

"What was the good news in the letter then?" Mary asked picking up that Sybil really didn't seem that disappointed.

"Well, they were very encouraging about the physical therapy work I'd been doing, and suggested that perhaps that was where my calling really lay," she said her voice a little brighter.

"Apparently it is fast becoming a specialised area, and there is an organisation for people who do this sort of work. They have given me a contact, one of the founding members, who is a nurse called Rosalind Paget.

"They thought I'd be well placed to obtain a position in one of the larger hospitals. In fact, one of the hospitals they mentioned was the London Orthopaedic Hospital, where the Doctor that advised us about Matthew is based."

"Doctor Jones?" Mary said. "How interesting!"

"Yes, and apparently he's personally very involved in this developing area of treatment," Sybil added enthusiastically.

"You know, I think they are right," Edith said suddenly. "I think that is the area of your calling. You've shown such a flair for the work you have done with the physical therapy here. And the patients all adore you!"

"I agree," said Mary. "But will you want to move away if you have to? I don't think I would like that myself."

"To be honest," Sybil said a little shyly, "I'd very much like to move away. I want to experience what life is like somewhere else. I greatly enjoyed those times I had in York, both for my initial VAD training, and then when I went back for those courses I had to do for my registration. It's wetted my appetite for more," she smiled.

"Well let's just hope you can find a suitable position where you can continue the good work you have started," Edith said. "It will be good to see at least one of us being a modern woman and working for her living!"

"I'm not sure it will be as simple as that," Mary said frowning. "What on earth is Papa going to say? He was the only one of us who didn't celebrate when you became a fully qualified nurse and got your first wage packet. What if he objects and won't let you?"

Sybil's eyes darkened. "I'm a grown woman now," she said tightly. "He will have to come around. And besides, we all know he's more bark than bite."

Edith giggled. "That much is true! Well, you need to have a firm offer of a position first in any case. Then let's see what happens!"

They all tittered and focused back on their breakfast.

0-0-0-0-0-0

"So Sybil didn't get a place at the Medical School after all?" said Matthew as he and Mary sat together on the sofa in the small library and watched the snow coming down outside. "I must say, I am a little surprised, particularly given how well she did in her nursing exams," he added.

"Apparently the competition is very fierce. And in the aftermath of the war, she was likely up against other young women who had also done well in their nursing exams, but who had the added benefit of a proper secondary education, in contrast to what we all had," Mary explained. She was quiet for a moment, a far-away look on her face.

"It would be quite different, of course, if she had been born a boy," Mary went on. "Papa would have packed her off to Eton, and she might even have started a university course before now and be far better placed to consider medical school."

"So she was let down by having only a governess education," Matthew frowned. He looked at Mary questioningly. "Tell me what it was like. The few girls I knew well growing up, daughters of my parent's medical friends, attended Manchester High School. And most of the women at Oxford we knew had higher schooling too. Highly unusual I realise when I think about it now."

"Unusual indeed," Mary nodded. "Of the girls I knew, exactly two had higher schooling. One went to a Swiss finishing school, and the other to Cheltenham Ladies' College," Mary rolled her eyes. "At the time that caused a lot of disquiet. Her parents were treated as if they had done something quite shocking!"

"I can only imagine," Matthew remarked. He paused for a few moments before repeating, "So, what was it like having a governess?"

"We actually had a series of governesses," Mary corrected. "Some of them were quite good, but knowing what I know now, I can see we did have some gaps in our learning, I'm ashamed to say. I don't like to admit this to many people, but when I started at the hospital; I had to take a correspondence class in bookkeeping. I saw far too quickly just how many basics I had missed," she sighed.

"As to what it was like, well, we had formal lessons in the morning. English grammar and literature. Sometimes a little mathematics or science, plants and the like. And a little history. Then each afternoon we would focus on accomplishments, like music or art. Deportment of course. Some girls did handicrafts like embroidery, but that was never for me!" Mary smiled. "I was taught a little French as well. But all in all, it wasn't thorough. Not at all," she finished sadly.

She took one of his hands in hers and looked at him with a wistful expression. "So, my darling, if and when we ever end up with a daughter, let's make sure we do send her to a grammar school or one of those lady's secondary schools that are now being set up. The ones that take academic learning for girls seriously. I'd hate for her to get to my age and find her early education had been wanting as I did, and Sybil too!"

"Of course. I would never dream of us doing anything else!" Matthew said, and he leant across and kissed her gently.

0-0-0-0-0-0

It was three days before their wedding, and with the arrangements finished and the plans in place, the day was continuing like any other. Matthew had just got off the telephone and was turning to go back to the small library and continue his legal work when Mary called him from the stairs.

"Whom were you talking to?" She enquired. "You've got that serious look on your face," she said walking towards him, her coat and bag in hand.

"Alex," he said turning back to face her.

"He said Clarissa cannot travel with him tomorrow, unfortunately. She will arrive the day before the wedding instead. It was just… I don't know. I hope he's all right Mary. He just didn't sound that great." Alex was to be Matthew's best man at the wedding.

"What train is he on?" she asked. "He arrives on the midday train," Matthew answered.

"Perhaps it is because he's only just back," Mary suggested. Alex had stayed on in France for several months following the Armistice, helping coordinate the massive task of repatriating British soldiers and Army equipment and supplies.

"It might be that," Matthew admitted. "I just hope the reality of William gone, and my injuries aren't too much for him tomorrow, not to mention the others convalescing here." He had a troubled look in his eyes, and she waited for him to continue.

"When you're over there, strangely enough, it's almost easier to cope with the horror and the aftermath, whereas here it just hits you…" his voice trailed off.

"Was that why you always seemed to struggle when you came back during leave?" Mary asked gently. Whilst his letters had occasionally been raw and graphic, it was rare to hear Matthew actually say anything at all about the war.

Matthew nodded. "I'd get used to it after a few days, but the first little while was always very confronting, especially after the convalescent home started operating."

"There's not much to do tomorrow though, is there?" asked Mary. "Aside from the Army Chaplin and Travis running through the ceremony with you and Alex, since he missed our rehearsal on Monday. "

"Not even that, that's in the morning at nine o'clock the day before," Matthew corrected.

"Well, what about your work? Are you able just to spend the time with him?" she asked.

"I've got one contract I've got to finish, it came in late yesterday and there's a bit of urgency with it. I hope I can get it done today so that it's out of the way before he arrives."

"Well do that my darling, and make your friend your priority," Mary said, giving him a quick kiss before she departed for the hospital.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Alex stepped out of the car and thanked Branson. He paused for a moment, looking up at the gracious stone building in front of him and the expansive lawns and gardens stretching out either side of the drive.

_Matthew, to inherit this?_ he thought. He shook his head. It was certainly a far more significant estate than his family seat in Lancashire, and he found himself looking forward to finding out more about it from his friend.

"Colonel Shipton, good afternoon," Carson said politely, taking in Alex's tall, dashing, yet spare figure at the entrance to the Abbey.

"I am Carson, the Butler. Captain Crawley will be with you shortly. He just had a telephone call from his office he couldn't ignore, unfortunately.

"Alfred will take your luggage up to your room. He'll be looking after you during your stay," he said formally, motioning the footman beside him who bowed and gave him a polite greeting, before disappearing up the stairs with Alex's bag.

"Thank you," said Alex, following Carson into the ornate hallway.

Their reunion was, as Matthew had feared. He met Alex in the grand hall, having just managed to get off the telephone tidying up the last of the queries about the contract he'd sent through to the office by messenger early in the morning.

They both looked at each other for a moment, and then Alex said

"Jesus fucking Christ Matthew," and he was completely overcome.

Matthew gave Carson a quick look, appreciating that he hadn't even flinched at the language, and forced out a couple of words to him "In there? Lunch?" pointing at the small library. It was all he could manage in seeing Alex's anguish.

Carson quickly said without missing a beat, "Colonel Shipton, come this way. We'll have lunch sent up for you both in a short while," and he showed him into the small library. Matthew followed and Carson shut the door behind them, making a mental note to let the other staff know they were not to be disturbed.

Alex was shaking and he paced the room tears streaking his face. He couldn't look at Matthew.

Matthew rubbed his hand across his forehead and then he said quietly, "This is too much for you, isn't it? Is it the chair? If it is, I'd quite like to get out of it and sit on the sofa if you can give me a hand."

Alex looked at him then and said, "Jesus Matthew, I'm so sorry! Sorry for being such a blubbing mess. Yes, I think it is that blasted chair. This bloody war! What has it done to you?" His voice shook. He walked across to him. "All right, tell me how to do this."

Matthew told him how to lift him safely. As Alex settled him on the sofa and sat down beside him, he said: "And you're unbelievably thin."

"I'm a lot less thin than I was," Matthew said tightly.

"God I'm sorry Matthew. I'm sorry for talking like this! It really is good to see you, it really truly is." Alex paused for a moment, trying, without much success to compose himself.

"You have no idea how much I missed you," he said fervently, tears continuing to streak down his cheeks. "It continued on, just as torrid until the Armistice, but it wasn't the same, being there without you and William.

"And they," he gestured helplessly "... they... just kept dying," he choked.

"I couldn't protect them, Matthew! How can I deserve to be alive when they all died?"

And then Alex seemed to crumple. He slumped forward, and pulled his knees up until he was sitting in a ball and sobbed uncontrollably. Matthew clenched his jaw. Poor Alex. The rawness of his grief was palpable. _He's been keeping it all in_, he thought grimly. _All carefully partitioned off, as you have to, just to get through over there._

But back here it was in your face, Matthew thought. The cold reality. Every immediate commanding officer Alex had served with, and every other batman, which is what they all called their Soldier-Servants, except for his very last, who had been with him only a month before the Armistice, had died over there, many of them in front of him.

And of those he was closest to, himself and William, well William was gone, and he, Matthew, was injured and facing a different life. For all of them having gone through the war, things would never, ever, be the same.

He put his arm around Alex's shoulders and pulled him close. "It's all right old chap," he said quietly. Alex reached across and grabbed Matthew's other hand and continued to sob.

Carson arrived with the lunch tray, to which Alex was oblivious. Matthew thanked him, and issued him a few instructions in a low voice, "A jug of water please, and some handkerchiefs. Move my chair over to the desk. And bring us some drinks Carson, and put them where I can reach."

It was quite a while before Alex calmed down. Then they sat in silence for a bit, Alex stretching his legs out, his hand still clutching Matthew's.

Finally, Matthew said, "Can you eat?"

Alex shook his head. "A drink then?" He nodded at that, so Matthew poured him a whisky and passed it to him. He took a sandwich off the lunch tray for himself.

He finished the whisky, and Matthew wordlessly passed him another. This time Alex stretched and sat in the other corner of the sofa facing Matthew.

"How do you do it? How do you come back?" he asked shakily, taking a sip of the whisky and looking at his friend through reddened eyes.

"You need to give yourself time Alex. Time without any expectations. Spend time with Clarissa, just being with her. That will help, I know for a fact."

"I don't think she knows what to do with me," Alex said almost inaudibly. "I can't sit still. I just charge around the house, and jump when she tries to talk," he said looking down at his glass.

"Ask her to give you time. I'm sure she'll understand, she's always struck me as a sensible type." Alex looked at him dubiously. "Really? After I've been absent from her life so much these past four years? It just feels like being selfish," and he stared at his whisky again.

"You need to be kind to yourself. You've been in hell those four years! You deserve to have some time.

"And when you start to feel a little easier, remind yourself that you have survived for a reason. While that reason might seem nonsensical, or wrong, I mean for god's sake I kept asking myself why not me instead of William, for ages, well it just bloody is. So see your survival as a gift."

"Some gift," Alex snorted.

Matthew gave him a long look and then he said, "Today it won't look like that. And it probably won't tomorrow, and don't fight that. But do have faith that one day you will come to see you being here, whole, out the end of this bloody war, is actually a gift. And keep going for that."

Matthew turned and poured himself a whisky, then settled back facing Alex, nursing the snifter in his hands.

"I can't believe I'm hearing you telling me this you know," Alex said shaking his head slowly. "Facing what you are! How come you're not bitter? You were always the one of us who saw the insanity of it all so acutely. From way back when it first began."

"Fat lot of good that did me," Matthew said grimly. "I ended up with shell shock."

He paused for a minute. "I have been bitter. Very bitter indeed. But I had to fight for my life, and now for my health. I've learned that staying bitter is a distraction when that is the end game."

Alex gave him a long look. "The way you say that. It makes me think maybe one day I might actually believe you."

Matthew lifted his eyes to him. "Then keep your eye on that one day."

They were silent again for a while, and then they began to talk a little about the future.

"Have you thought about what you'll do?" Matthew asked. "Is Clarissa still keen on leaving London?"

Alex rolled his eyes. "Yes, she is, she's so keen on her horses, and while I am not fussed really where we are, she wants us to get on and make some decisions now the war is over." He sighed heavily.

He put his glass down and rubbed his face vigorously with his hands. "Just thinking about the effort of not only looking for a new home but looking for a new position… and trying to catch up four years away from the law books, oh, God, I just want to shut it all out!" His bottom lip was quivering again.

"You know what I think?" said Matthew. "You're bloody exhausted. You need a rest before you do anything.

"You must be one of a mere handful of officers who were actually at the front and made it all the way through for Christ's sake! "And they didn't even give you Christmas leave after Armistice!" He said, almost indignant. You've given your all to the British army, and you've gone well beyond any reasonable call of duty!"

Alex sighed again and shut his eyes. Matthew looked at him more closely. His instinct was right. Alex was exhausted. His handsome face was lined, and there was a greyish tinge to his complexion. But it was his shaking hands that were the real giveaway. _Please, God, tell me Alex is just tired and not shell shocked._

"Have you any leave owing?" he asked.

"I do, as a matter of fact. Quite a bit," Alex answered quietly.

"Good," Matthew replied firmly. "Let's make sure you use it. Every damn bit. On the Government's paycheck. Go somewhere nice with your lady.

"And when you get back, I've got a job proposition to put to you," Matthew finished.

"Yes? Alex's head snapped up, and he opened his eyes.

"But there's one problem," Matthew went on.

"Oh, what's that?" Alex said and his face fell.

"You'd be working with me," Matthew said.

Alex smiled for the first time, and then he began to laugh. "Jesus Crawley, I can't think of anything I'd like more. Assuming its law we're talking about, and not running some sort of criminal operation?"

"It is law, but come to think of it, there wouldn't be anything stopping us diversifying if we so wished," Matthew said irreverently.

Alex's smile became wider. "Tell me more," he said, and he leant forward.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a more relaxed fashion, Matthew sharing some ideas about the law firm, and what might be possible if Alex was keen to join him. Every now and again, however, Alex would lapse back into a sombre silence.

Matthew began to wonder whether Alex would be all right as his best man. He wished there was longer than just one more day before the ceremony. Just before the dressing gong was due to be rung, he put the question to Alex.

"Alex. About the wedding. Are you sure you will be all right being my best man? I don't want to put it on you if it's too much. I feel bad that we're having it now when you've only been home a matter of days."

Alex started and looked across at him. "Matthew, it's your wedding day old chap," he said gently. One of the few things that have kept me going has been knowing you were pulling through. And your letters! All the interesting things about your recovery and so much in every letter about Mary! And what she's done for you and you for her - and when I got that letter about your engagement, I can't describe how happy I was! And I'm looking forward, very much to meeting her tonight," he said smiling.

He paused, and then said seriously, "I'll be all right. And if it does get a bit much, I'm still good at pretending when I need to. I'm an officer after all." He looked across at him and gave him a mock salute. Matthew was relieved at his words, and he grinned back at him and returned the salute.

Carson knocked shortly after the dressing gong sounded, Alfred right behind him. He asked if Colonel Shipton was ready for Alfred to accompany him to his room and dress for dinner.

"You wearing your kit?" Alex asked Matthew as he placed him carefully back into his wheelchair.

He nodded. "I'm not discharged either, not until the rehabilitation programme finishes."

"Good. I'll see you shortly then," Alex replied and followed Alfred out of the room.

When Alex was out of earshot, Matthew said to Carson "I would like to thank you for your discretion and attentiveness this afternoon Carson. It made things a lot easier for me and Colonel Shipton."

"Glad to be of assistance, Sir. I take it Colonel Shipton is only recently home?" Carson said as he gathered up the glasses and placed them on a tray.

"Literally three days." Matthew sighed. "He's completely exhausted."

"Is he going to be all right?" Carson asked, concern in his voice.

"I hope so. It's very hard when you first get home. And with the war finally over, all he can think about is the men in our regiment who didn't make it. Far too many of them, Carson," Matthew said sadly.

"Of course. And no doubt you have been a great comfort to him, Sir." Carson gave him a sympathetic look.

Returning to his room, Matthew was pleased to find that the duty nurse that turned up after he rung the bell was Sybil. As she helped him dress for dinner, he was able to share with her what had happened with Alex, and his worries for him.

"You've done all the right things, you know," she said reassuringly after Matthew explained what he had said to his friend. "What about his wife? Has she been involved in the war effort at all?"

"I don't think so. At least not as a nurse or in a role working directly with soldiers," he answered.

"So talking with her will be important," Sybil said. "She needs to know what to expect, and what to do. And let's just hope he's not shell shocked."

When at last he was ready, Sybil stood back and surveyed him in his kit.

"You look pretty smashing," she said with a grin.

"Thank you," Matthew said playfully batting his eyelashes at her. "But wait until you see Alex in his mess kit. He's the real dandy."

"I can't wait!" she laughed. "But I won't be joining you tonight," she said regretfully. "I can't be spared from the evening shift. But from tomorrow I've got three days off for the wedding, so I'll look forward to meeting Alex and seeing Eddie again then."

She sat down on the bed watching while Matthew rubbed pomade into his hair and began combing it in place.

"This is your last night with us, isn't it?" she said.

"That's right. From tomorrow I'm officially well enough to go home, whatever that means when I'm already here!" Matthew raised his eyebrows at her in the mirror.

"Ah yes. Swapping this room for the one next door?" Sybil giggled.

"It is almost that," Matthew chuckled. "Our suite of the four east wing rooms that the convalescent home stopped requiring in January. Have you seen it since Mary had the decorators in? I must say it's looking very nice."

"I have. It's going to be lovely. Especially that terrace with the view across the paddocks," Sybil agreed. "And Sergeant Barrow will be your Valet?" she went on.

"Yes. Morning and evening only to start, and Bates will take care of me if I need anything at other times, until Sergeant Barrow's finishes here when you close up in May."

"That should work out all right," Sybil smiled at him. "You can do most things for yourself now anyway."

"Thank God for that," Matthew sighed. "It's taken long enough!"

"Oh, I don't know," Sybil, said. Eleven months since you were wounded. You've made huge progress from where you were. You weren't supposed to be alive remember!" she chided him gently. "And you are already beyond the level of recovery the doctors expected with more to go yet!"

"That is true," Matthew conceded. "I wish I knew how much more, but that will have to wait I guess until I can see Doctor Jones."

He finished his hair and turned to face her. "Changing the subject, did you know I'd invited Branson to my drinks?" he said, her friendship with Branson openly acknowledged between them.

She nodded, and a smile played at her lips. "Tom did mention it," she said. "I see you're busy breaking traditions left, right and centre!"

"I might as well," Matthew said. "After all, there's nothing quite usual about our wedding either compared to what society would suggest we should be having... modest, my bride wearing an off the rack dress and me and most of the guests still Army, and either patients or staff here!" He chuckled. "Robert wasn't quite sure where to look when I told him who I'd asked to the drinks though!"

"I bet he didn't dare say a thing," Sybil said. "You've got him wrapped around your little finger… probably the only one of us!"

"Well I'll use the advantage while I have it," Matthew grinned. Because I bet it won't last once I can get him to listen to what I've got to say about the estate."

"Do you really think so? Are things that bad?" Sybil countered, her face becoming serious.

"Put it this way. Some things have been continuing that don't impress me, especially with what Jarvis is supposed to be doing but never quite manages to, month after month," he said shaking his head.

"But I won't dwell on this now," he said forcing a smile back on his face. "I'd better go or I'll be late and I'll have to face the wrath of Cora or cousin Violet or both."

Sybil gave a giggle, and she opened the door for him, and he left for the drawing room, and she to return to the main ward.


	29. Chapter 29

Alex entered the drawing room a few minutes after Matthew, his red and black uniform a flattering combination with his dark wavy hair, deep blue eyes, and olive skin. As Matthew had predicted, the women in the room all stopped and stared, and he had to suppress a smile.

"Cora, Robert. May I present Colonel Alex Shipton, third son of Lord Talbot of Lancashire," he said formally.

Alex bowed and kissed Cora's outstretched hand, and gave Robert a firm handshake.

"A great pleasure to meet you both," he said smiling warmly. "I've heard a lot about you from Matthew over the past few years!"

"Good things, I hope?" said Robert in a jolly tone.

"Of course, and I have been particularly impressed hearing about your family's enormous contribution to the war effort, and the way you were, in fact, still are, actively involved."

"Thank you," said Robert graciously. "Truth be told, however, it's the women of the family who are responsible. My war contribution was, well you could say, more ceremonial," he said a little stiffly.

"I am sure your resources were, and still are key to this effort Lord Grantham, and I understand that you yourself are a veteran of the Boer War?" Alex said kindly.

_Good Lord,_ Matthew thought. _Alex the diplomat, putting Robert at ease on such a touchy subject._

Robert, suitably mollified, regained his jollity. "Well yes, from that viewpoint I daresay I have made a contribution," he said, and he and Cora asked after Alex's family and after Clarissa.

A few minutes later, Violet and Isobel arrived, with Mary close behind.

Matthew sighed with pleasure at the sight of his fiancé.

Her maroon beaded evening gown sparkled alluringly in the lamplight as she walked across the room to him. She was wearing a gold and ruby tiara that complemented her glossy brown hair, and maroon and black silk gloves that showed off her shapely arms. The whole effect was breathtaking.

"My darling," she said leaning to kiss him on the cheek. "Sorry I am late. End of month financials to tidy at the office." She looked him up and down enjoying the handsome figure he cut in his mess kit.

"But all finished now, till after our honeymoon!" Matthew said, her appreciative gaze sending a shiver of anticipation through his body. He could hardly wait for the time they would shortly have together, away from their normal routines.

"Are you looking forward to the wedding?" she asked him enigmatically.

"I'm looking forward to all sorts of things!" he murmured, just loud enough for her ears only, his magnetic blue eyes widening along with his smile.

"You are making me blush," she answered her lips twitching, and she leaned over and kissed him again, this time not quite so chaste.

"Come with me and meet Alex," he said, needing to distract himself from the feelings she was arousing in him, and he led her across the room to where Alex was still talking animatedly to Cora and Robert.

Matthew introduced them. "Lady Mary, it is indeed a very great pleasure to meet you at long last," Alex said bowing to kiss her hand. Robert and Cora excused themselves then and went to greet Violet and Isobel.

He was very taken with her. She was tall, elegant and poised; Stunningly beautiful, just as Matthew had so often said. And, Alex was flattered to find, genuinely interested in getting to know him. He found himself warming to her immediately. Carson handed them each a glass of champagne, apologising that dinner would not be served for another half an hour.

"That's nicely convenient!" Mary said with a smile, not yet ready to eat, and keen to find out more about this very handsome man who was her fiancé's best friend.

She motioned across to the sofa in the corner of the room and said "Let's sit down, so you can tell me about when you first met Matthew. I know there is a story there, and I'd really like to hear it from you both together!"

Alex and Matthew exchanged looks and once they were settled, told the story of how they met by chance after a rowing incident when they were students at Oxford. It had involved a mid-river collision, a capsize, and then the two of them separated from their respective crews and stranded together, soaking wet, on the far bank of the river.

"It was our first year at University," Alex said. "The whole thing was laughable, a completely avoidable collision that wasn't avoided..." his voice trailed off and he gave Matthew a quick look.

"What, were you steering?" Mary asked quizzically.

"Hmm." Alex blushed. "What do you say, Crawley? Should we 'fess?"

"We were. Both of us," said Matthew chuckling. "I was cox for my house's team and Alex for his. Neither of us knew what we were doing and we started shouting at each other to get out of the way…"

"And it all turned to custard," finished Alex. "And it won't surprise you that both of us failed selection to our respective teams.

"Actually I think that's why we bonded, don't you think Matthew?" he added. "Mutual embarrassment of the highest order."

"Most probably. And because we were forced to apologise to each other and actually talk because they left us across the river soaking wet and cold for so long," Matthew said chortling at the memory.

"How long did it take for you to start being civil to each other?" Mary said her lips twitching.

They both looked away from each other, then back again, and Alex raised his eyebrows. "I think it was Matthew who made the first attempt at civility" he smirked.

"And after how long?" Mary asked again, her eyes on Matthew, knowing full well how stubborn he could be on occasion.

"Probably a good half an hour," Matthew blushed.

Mary giggled. "You drag each other across a river, up a muddy bank, and then sit in a stony silence for a whole half an hour!"

"Well, of course! We had our pride to think about!" said Alex in mock indignation.

They all laughed then, and between them, the two men filled Mary in on the rest of the story, how they had become firm friends and both been accepted into law the following year. And how later they roomed together as seniors.

"Did you ever try rowing again after that?" Mary said.

"No, both of us decided cricket was a much more sensible option," Matthew said. "So we played that together as well – a little more successfully you'll be pleased to know. Both of us ended up the Oxford A team in our final year."

"Really?" Mary was impressed. "Have you ever told Papa that Matthew?"

"No, come to think of it, I haven't. Why, does Robert enjoy a round?"

"He loves it. And there is a Downton tradition of the house staff versus the village. We haven't held it the last four years because of the war," she said thoughtfully.

"Actually, I do remember him asking me to play that summer before the war," Matthew said suddenly, "But I had to be away for something, I think a trip to Mother's cousin, so we spoke no more about it."

"It looks like we might be about to eat," Alex said, noticing that Carson was beckoning people to take their seats at the table.

The meal passed pleasantly, Alex and Matthew keeping up a constant banter between them, finishing each other's sentences with stories from their university days together, and some of the lighter incidents they'd been involved with at the front. Eventually, however, the conversation turned to the future now that the war was over.

"What will you do once you are discharged?" Cora asked Alex. She had found herself quite disarmed by the courteous, dashing young man.

"Clarissa and I need to talk," he said, "But Matthew's made me a job offer just today that I don't think I can refuse!"

"Matthew?" said Cora in surprise. Mary rolled her eyes. _Oh Mother, stop this continual discounting of Matthew!_ she thought in annoyance.

"To join him as a junior partner at his firm," Alex explained. "It will be a good way to ease back in, and we can both see it's something we could expand later, perhaps to York initially, and then London, using the contacts we've both got," he said confidently.

"Oh! I wouldn't have expected that… " Cora began, and Robert uncharacteristically interrupted her, worried Cora was about to make some belittling remark about Matthew and embarrass him in front of his best friend.

"So you see the role of a gentleman in the modern way that Matthew does, do you?" he enquired.

"Well, if by that you mean I see merit in a man, gentry or not, having a career, then yes," Alex said. "Although my situation is a little different to yours Lord Grantham. My older brother Maurice is heir, and he looks after our estate's day to day running with my father. I am called on to assist them only occasionally."

"And Maurice? What of him?" Robert pressed. "Maurice is with the foreign office," Alex said. "And I expect he will continue with his career even when he becomes Earl."

"So you are a modern aristocratic family, after all," Robert stated evenly.

"I guess we are," Alex said. "Times are changing rapidly, and my parents always pressed upon us the importance of having a means of creating income aside from what we could expect from the estate. Although what we have is on a considerably smaller scale from what I see here," he said smiling at Cora and Robert.

"I imagine there must be quite a bit more for you to manage Robert, than for my father," he went on conversationally.

"Well, not too much," Robert admitted. "Jarvis manages the day to day."

"Who is Jarvis?" Alex enquired. "He's the land agent," answered Robert, eyeing Matthew and suddenly looking a little uncomfortable.

Alex looked at Matthew who rolled his eyes at him. He looked back and forth between the two men, cleared his throat and then asked, "Pardon me if this is an indelicate question, but is there a problem with Jarvis?"

"You could say that," Matthew said sighing. "He's not exactly proactive. In fact, I'd go so far as to suggest he is lazy. And he's quite obtuse in the way he keeps the books. I think it's time he went, but on that point, Robert and I do not agree."

"Jarvis knows this place, and he's managed things well enough," Robert said hotly, giving Matthew a glare.

"Perhaps not well enough for the new world, which is what I keep trying to impress upon you Robert," Matthew said coolly.

Violet cleared her throat. "I do wonder, gentlemen, if this is a discussion best held after the ladies have retired. Shall we, Cora, Isobel?" She took her cane and heaved herself to her feet, and the other women following suit.

Mary paused after the older women and her sisters had left. She frowned at Matthew and mouthed, "Can't you leave it?"

"Robert, could I ask that Mary stays," Matthew said unexpectedly, keeping his eyes on her. "Downton is as much hers as it is to be mine in the future, and as my wife, she will be as involved as I am in all the decision making."

Mary looked at Matthew, surprise replacing her frown. Matthew had often talked about how he wanted to involve her in its running, but this was the first time he had voiced it so publicly. She looked at her father then and saw that he, too, had been taken by surprise.

"Sounds sensible to me," Alex said into the silence. "Mary, may I offer you a cigar?"

His irreverence was so unexpected that they all laughed, and the tension between them broke.

Still snickering, Robert took his seat again and said, "Very well, Mary you may stay.

"Carson, please bring us some drinks, including something Mary might enjoy knowing that whiskey is not her favourite tipple!"

"Certainly my Lord," Carson said graciously, raising his eyebrows at Mary, a hint of a smile playing at his lips as he left.

"Now Matthew, explain to me again what your problem is with Jarvis," Robert said. He lit his cigar and sat back.

As Mary nervously watched the interplay between her father and Matthew, it suddenly dawned on her why Matthew had chosen this particular night to push the issue of Jarvis, something she knew had been bothering him for quite some time.

It was Alex. He provided the perfect foil. Matthew had an unfortunate way of putting things that always seemed to make Robert hot under the collar. Indeed Mary was a little amused to think Matthew couldn't see how his comments wouldn't when his opening statement was _"Downton is being mismanaged!"_

Alex had a way of asking and rephrasing that immediately cooled things down. She was further impressed by the fact that Alex continually brought her into the conversation, and for the first time, perhaps ever, she felt her father was actually hearing what she had to say.

"Very well," Robert finally said after they had been talking for some time.

"I now understand exactly what the concerns with Jarvis are, and I can see why it is time he is replaced. My concern now is exactly who we replace him with. It needs to be someone who understands the place, which of course Jarvis has done, but I can see that you are right: he has been enjoying the spoils without heed to the future," he said, "and in fact with these last months to go on, his inaction is indeed putting us at risk financially," he shook his head.

"What do you think, Mary?" asked Alex.

"I think Papa is right. We want someone who understands the past, and who knows the tenants. But I also think we need someone who can better manage the books, and particularly the debtors, whilst also keeping a sharp eye out for the opportunities, which I personally believe are many," she said.

"What sort of opportunities do you see? Alex enquired with interest.

"Well, I'll share two ideas I have for a start," she replied." The first is housing. Housing is tight in this village. I believe we have real potential for greater and more reliable returns with some further modest upgrades to what we offer. We are also in the enviable position of having quite considerable land interests, including some areas on the edge of the village, which could be developed for new housing." she paused.

"And the second?" Matthew prompted.

"Edith and Anthony are of the view that we have a significant area of fertile land currently underused," Mary began. "This seems to me a wasted opportunity, as I know we have some very good farm tenants. I believe we could encourage them to farm more productively if we could provide some better incentives, for example through some type of profit sharing, with benefits both to us and to them," she finished. She looked around. All three men were looking at her intently, clearly impressed by what she had shared.

An idea was playing in Matthew's mind. It was an idea he had had for a while, but hearing Mary speak now he was more than convinced it could work. He wasn't sure how Robert would react, but on a hunch, he decided to voice it.

"What about you, Mary?" asked Matthew. "How about you take on the land agent role? You have good ideas and a flair for management. And besides, Downton is to be ours in the future, and this is a way to help start creating that future for us."

"You have got to be joking," she said crisply, bracing herself for the 'absolutely not' she knew was coming from her father.

Robert was silent for a moment, thinking. Then he cleared his throat. "Actually, I think Matthew is right. You would be ideal, Mary."

Mary stared at her father, then at Matthew, who was smiling encouragingly, and back again. She could not believe what she was hearing.

"Before this last year, I never would have entertained the notion," Robert went on. "But I have been watching you, and you have impressed me with the talent and level-headedness you are showing as a manager at the hospital. Just last week Major Clarkson showed me the financial statements he was providing to the Army Medical Corps and telling me how very pleased he was.

"He insisted I read them, and I must say I was mightily impressed. You have run a tight ship; there is very little waste; the staff is happy, and the creditors are being paid regularly. And that initiative you took there very early on, to create an account and put money aside regularly for maintenance and capital improvements is already paying dividends. The hospital has been able to self-fund a whole lot of necessary repairs for the first time in years!"

"What do you say, Mary?" Alex asked gently. "You clearly have the support of your father and your husband to be! But is it something that you want?"

"Well," Mary paused. "To be honest, I really do enjoy working!" she smiled. "So if I have your support, and in saying that I mean the support of **both** of you," she said looking first at her father and then at Matthew, "then yes, it is something I would very much like to do!"

"You do," they both chorused. Mary smiled widely then, and Robert stood and began pouring them all another drink. He handed them around and said "Gentlemen let's raise our glasses and toast our new Agent! To Mary!"

"To Mary!" they said together, lifting their glasses toward her.

"Oh, Papa," Mary said, a little overcome. And Robert wrapped his daughter in a bear hug.

"Well, that was an eventful evening!" Alex said giving Mary and Matthew a wide grin as they left the drawing-room together, some time later.

"It was. At the beginning I was convinced it would end up with an awful row," Mary said, turning to give Matthew a look.

"That's normally what happens, isn't it darling," she went on, pausing at the bottom of the stairs where Alex had to leave them. "You get angry with Robert. I take his side because you've normally been tactless in what you have said, and then we end up in a bit of a stand-off!" she was smiling now.

"About sums it up," said Matthew, blushing a little, all too aware of his own past failings when attempting to engage Robert on various estate matters.

"But thanks to you, Alex, we actually resolved a few things!" Mary finished.

"I don't think it was just me, Alex countered. "It was Matthew who asked you to stay, and Matthew who suggested you as the agent."

"But Mary is right, you helped because you got Robert to understand it without him getting defensive in the process," Matthew said. "I'll take credit for one thing though."

"What's that?" asked Alex and Mary together.

"Bringing the subject up when I had the benefit of your superb diplomatic skills Alex, at my disposal!" Matthew grinned.

"You know, I had a feeling you had done that on purpose!" Mary said and she began to laugh. "As long as you don't feel used Alex?" she said playfully.

"Not at all. Quite to the contrary! I feel useful, and very happy with the outcome, especially for you Mary!" he flashed her his brilliant smile.

They conversed a while longer, all of them reluctant to retire to bed, but eventually, Matthew said, "I guess we'd better all get some sleep. We have a big day ahead, and Clarissa is arriving on the ten o'clock."

"What time is your physical therapy session tomorrow?" Alex asked him.

"Seven o'clock. There's a group of us who like to do it early," Matthew explained. "Did you want to join us?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I would," Alex, said. "I'm dying to see this Sergeant Sybil in action! And see Eddie again."

"Yes he's promised to be there despite the late night he will be having! His train doesn't get in until almost midnight," Matthew replied.

"Good then," said Alex. "Shall I meet you here at five to?"

Matthew nodded, and he and Mary bade Alex good night, and he departed upstairs.

"You'd better make sure Alex knows not to call her Sergeant Sybil to her face!" Mary giggled as she followed Matthew to their new suite.

"Oh, he knows! While he and I might kid about, he's a real gentleman and wouldn't dare embarrass Sybil – he's not like that at all."

"I can see that," Mary said thoughtfully. "I like him. And I can see why you like him too. It's been wonderful to meet him properly at long last," she said opening the door to their bedroom.

"Aren't you going to go to bed?" he asked, realising she had followed him in.

"There are a few last minute wedding details I wanted to check with you, " Mary explained. "And I know our time tomorrow is going to be taken up mostly with Alex and Clarissa. How about I wait in the sitting room whilst Barrow is here so we don't hold him up getting to bed. I'll come in when I hear him leave."

"That's a good idea. I wanted to tell you about my talk with Alex earlier too," Matthew agreed.

Mary went through to their new sitting room and looked around in satisfaction. The pale green walls were restful, and the few pieces of art they had chosen together for the walls from Robert's collection made it look homely already.

She sat down in one of the armchairs under the window and thought back over the evening. She smiled to herself, thinking back to the pleasant surprise she had got from her father actually supporting her in taking on the land agent role. It was not what she was used to.

She cast her mind back to how it had been when Matthew had first arrived; the betrayal she had felt at her father so obviously favouring him over her, treating him like his long lost son. But that was where Matthew himself had made the difference. He had never discounted her, even then. He had always championed her to her father, even when his efforts seemed in vain.

Was it Matthew who had helped Robert gain confidence in her, she wondered, just as he had helped her to gain confidence in herself? Or was it the war, and the opportunity it had given her to do well at something unexpected, that her father couldn't help but notice?

Regardless, it was a most pleasant change to have her father recognise what she could contribute at long last.

A little while later, she heard Sergeant Barrow saying _"Good night, Sir"_ and the soft click of the bedroom door.

She arose and walked back into their bedroom.

Matthew was sitting on the side of the bed in his robe, writing in his notebook.

"You're not in bed yet?" she said, surprised.

"No," he looked up and smiled. "I wanted to do a list of what I need to remember tomorrow," he explained. "And it sounded like you might need me to add to it from what you said earlier!"

"Ah yes, a couple of changes I wanted to check with you regarding the seating plan," Mary said remembering. They talked through the details and then dealt with some other matters Mary also had on her mind.

"And what about you? Anything you need to check with me?" she asked.

He shook his head. "I'm just finishing what I want to say at our wedding breakfast, and you've given me some good ideas about that already. And there are a couple of things I need to remind Sergeant Barrow to do regarding our honeymoon," he grinned.

"You still haven't told me where we are going!" she exclaimed.

"Because I'm not completely sure either. I've left the whole deal up to someone who shall remain nameless," he said tapping the side of his nose.

"And that someone who shall remain nameless has to be someone whose name begins with S," Mary teased.

Matthew raised his eyebrows. "You'll have to wait and see," he said enigmatically.

She sat down next to him and put her hand on his arm. "Thank you for tonight," she said. "I couldn't believe it when Papa agreed to me being the land agent! You are very good how you fight my corner," she said earnestly.

"You've proved yourself to Robert this year, Mary," Matthew countered. "It wasn't about what I've championed! He's seen what others have seen: that you are capable, you have ideas and you can think ahead, and you are very good indeed at managing people."

"Yes, but I'm also a woman, and the way I have been raised means that even if I am all those things I should be applying them purely to running a household, a few charitable pursuits and raising children," she said drily.

"That is true. And that's where I think the war has actually helped, hateful as it is to say it," he replied giving her a wry look. "It's allowed people, including your father, to see you applying those skills in other ways."

"And on that point, I do believe you are right," she said slowly.

They continued to talk about what had transpired during the evening, and how Alex had helped, and then Mary asked how it had gone with Alex earlier in the day. She was concerned at what Matthew shared with her.

"Poor Alex!" she said sadly. "I can't even begin to imagine what it would be like to lose so many people," she shuddered. "And I will make sure I talk to Clarissa. I'll be far more likely to get her alone than you will be in any case."

She fiddled idly with the front of his dressing gown, noticing, not without a little pleasure, how the powder blue silk pajamas he was wearing underneath almost perfectly matched his eyes.

"How did it go with Sergeant Barrow today?" she said remembering suddenly that it was his first day as Matthew's valet.

"Absolutely fine, as I knew it would," Matthew grinned. "He's very attentive and careful, which I need of course. And he was surprisingly chatty! I think he's really pleased to have a secure position back in service. It is what he likes to do."

"With the added bonus of a most good looking and kind man to dress," Mary teased. Matthew blushed and poked his tongue out at her, a gesture she found alarmingly sexy.

"He did say something that got me wondering though. Said he thought I was more than strong enough to get myself into bed, but that I would need a different sort of chair," Matthew frowned. "And I do think he's right," he added. "I think I could if the chair didn't have such high arms."

"I think you could too," said Mary. You've got so much of your strength and balance back now, half the time I expect you to leap up and start dancing around the room!"

"Not quite," Matthew grinned at her. "A shame, because right now I can't think of anything I'd much rather do. Especially with you," he said his voice suddenly low. "Perhaps a kiss instead?"

She obliged, and she felt her body tingle as she tasted his sweetness, and felt his strong arms wrap around her and pull her to him.

She broke away from him reluctantly and said, "If I don't leave soon, I don't think I will be able to… and I suppose we do need to do being married properly don't we my darling?"

"I'm sorry, I have to admit I quite forgot!" he teased. "I guess we've managed to avoid giving in to each other this long, what's another night?"

"Another night too long," Mary groaned. "I want you so much, Matthew Crawley! Do you know how beautiful you really are?"

"Given the looks I get from you my darling, I'm starting to get an inkling," he said his blue eyes dancing.

She couldn't resist then. She kissed him fully and sensuously on the lips, and pushed him back on the bed her tongue exploring every inch of his mouth; one hand buried in his soft blond locks and the other inside his pyjama top, exploring the outline of his chest. He sighed with pleasure and then rolled her over and all of a sudden he was on top of her, propped up on his elbows. She gasped with pleasure at feeling the weight of him over her.

"Is this all right?" he whispered. "Not too heavy?"

"Not at all," she gasped. "But Matthew…"

"Shh. We'll keep our clothes on," and he began to kiss her again.

When Mary finally left him an hour or so later, her dress a little creased, her hair tousled and her flushed face one very large smile, she was so happy she couldn't help skipping with delight as she headed upstairs. He had made her… what were the words people use? Come... reach her climax… orgasm. Despite the clothes! It had been so pleasurable and she knew, could already feel how much more so it would be with him fully naked beside her. She giggled as she entered her room, in possession of a most happy secret, and feeling overwhelmingly in love with her soon to be husband.


	30. Chapter 30

It was dark when Alex met Matthew at the foot of the stairs early the next morning. Alex shivered. "Not too warm is it?" he said rubbing his arms.

"No. The room we're in has a fire though, so it won't be too bad," Matthew answered. "It's this way."

Alex followed Matthew down a hallway until they reached the north-west corner of the house. He looked around with interest at the large, dark panelled room set up with an array of gym equipment.

"Morning!" Edward was the only one there. He had heard them come in but clearly did not realise who it was, as he had his back to them, shrugging off his jacket.

"Eddie, welcome back!" Matthew called to him. "And look who's here!"

He turned and let out a shout. "Shipton. I don't believe it. You made it. And you're here!"

They shook hands and Alex clasped him on the shoulder and they both grinned broadly at each other, and talked animatedly for a few minutes, catching up on each other's immediate news.

"So you didn't get out unscathed either?" Alex frowned as he took in Edward's missing arm.

"Nope," Edward said tightly. "And to be honest, it's been pretty rough to get my head around it. But it's getting easier especially now I'm back at work," he attempted a smile. "Have to say I'm enjoying having a secretary. And earning proper money again! Four years is a long time on a paltry Army officer's wage."

"It's great news about the job," Alex said. "That's something at least. But being so injured! You and Matthew, you both amaze me how you're so damn cheery about it," Alex shook his head, his voice a little emotional.

"_'Cheery'_ is stretching it a bit old chap," Matthew's eyes darkened momentarily as he glanced down at his motionless legs. "_'_Bearing it in the absence of any other choice' is more like it."

"But we are alive, aren't we?" Edward said looking from Matthew to Alex and back again. "That's more than can be said for far too many of us," he paused and a shadow crossed his face. "And we've still got our minds intact. And believe me, Alex, that's saying something. We've seen some pretty sorry cases here," he said glancing at Matthew who gave a solemn nod.

"That's what Matthew's been saying to me. But I'm still bloody mad you both ended up so hurt. I'm at that point where I just cannot see what the hell it was all for. Really, I mean, what the fuck was it all about? Some idiot diplomat dies and a whole bunch of countries go to war and blow each other to smithereens for four long years. So goddamn many of us. All sides. All engaged in pointless barbarism," he finished bitterly.

"We've all been at that point," Edward said, his voice quiet. "You'll get past it. It is what it is, and now that it's over, it was what it was. England is still England, and France still what it was too. That has to be something to be thankful for."

Alex looked at him for a minute and then he embraced him unexpectedly. He stood back, and they all looked at each other, silent, all of them suddenly aware that they were it. The three who had survived. The only three, out of the close-knit group of ten they had been. Of the rest of their university group, four had been left in pieces on the barbed wire and in the mud in far-flung locations along the Western front. Two had made it back to England to die later of their injuries. And one had succumbed to pneumonia in a French field hospital, contracted during the bitter winter of early 1917.

"We must toast them tonight," Matthew said, voicing what was unsaid. "Remind me, for god's sake." He looked away, suddenly overcome. Edward put his hand on his shoulder.

"A fucking stupid waste," Alex said darkly. "I want to hit something."

Edward jerked his head toward the punching bag hanging across the room. "Hit that," he muttered.

They were silent. And then Edward said slowly. "Well, I think we should all get drunk. And tell some stories. They'll want us to be happy," he looked at his two friends with a defiant expression. "And they'll really want you to be happy this night," he finished, giving Matthew's shoulder a shake.

"Eddie's right, Matthew," Alex said. "Let's make tonight about remembering the good times." He paused and gritted his teeth. "But right now, I'm afraid, I'm still going to have to hit something," and he strode purposefully across the room and began wordlessly hammering the life out of the punching bag.

There was a noise from the hallway, and a few seconds later, Sybil bounced in with a cheery "Good morning chaps!" five other officers close behind. It was time to focus on the session ahead.

Half way through their fourth set, Alex lay back exhausted. "How can you keep going?" he gasped. They were doing crunches now, and he had given up at 30. Matthew didn't speak. It was always too hard in the midst of the repetitions. After another minute, he too lay back exhausted. "I got to 45," he said ruefully, breathing hard.

"What is that not so good for you?" Alex inquired, incredulous.

"I usually make 50," he said. And then he gave a sheepish grin.

"So what time did you get to bed?" Alex said suddenly, guessing.

Matthew's grin grew a little wider. "That's classified!"

Alex began to laugh. He stopped, and then laughed again. "She's a fantastic lady Matthew. You are so good for each other! It's a rare thing, for me to feel genuinely happy at someone's marriage. But I most certainly am for yours," he said a little wistfully.

"But what about you and Clarissa?" asked Matthew turning his head and frowning at him. "Your marriage was based on love wasn't it?" he said remembering back to the Oxford days when Alex had fallen head over heels for the dark haired arts student who stood almost as tall as he did.

"Yes, quite by chance, and by God I'm glad for that," Alex said. He sat up, pulled up his knees, and hugged them. "She was the right sort of girl, from the right sort of family. And when we fell in love it was easy, no dramas from the respective parents! I just worry it's going to get all too much for her now," he said and his face fell again.

Seeing his despondency, Matthew was relieved he had had the chance to talk to Mary about the situation the evening before, knowing she would make time to speak with Clarissa.

"You'll get through this," he said reassuringly. "You and Clarissa, you will."

"I hope to God you are right," Alex muttered.

"Are you lads slacking?" Sybil called from across the room, her voice full of mock severity.

Matthew smirked and sat up. "All right old chap," he said running his hand through his hair to get it back off his face. "You ready for the next bit? It's weights, and if you thought what we've just done was tough, well…"

Matthew's teasing put the grin back on Alex's face. "I wouldn't say ready. But show me anyway!"

Later in the morning, following the walk through of the ceremonial details with the Army Chaplain and Travis at the church, Branson took Alex to meet Clarissa off the train. He returned with them both shortly after ten o'clock. Mary and Matthew met them at the entrance.

Clarissa crossed the driveway, elegant in a long navy coat and matching shoes. She was a tall, statuesque woman, more striking than pretty, and she moved with a purposeful air. She leant down and greeted Matthew, taking both his hands in hers.

Matthew raised one of her hands to his lips and kissed it. "Clarissa, it is truly wonderful to see you again after so long!" he replied with a wide smile.

"Oh Matthew," she said, a little overcome as she took in the rail thin, hollow-cheeked man in the wheelchair before her. She knelt down and embraced him, and when she stood up again she had to wipe away tears.

Matthew rubbed his forehead, feeling a little discomposed himself. _Is this always how it's going to be, greeting old friends?_ He wondered.

"Clarissa," he said gently. "I really am all right you know. And even more so having Alex around again, especially now he's home for good!"

Matthew's words reassured Clarissa. "Of course you are," she said, swallowing back her tears. "And you are getting married!" and she turned and smiled expectantly at Mary.

"Clarissa, this is my fiancé, Lady Mary Crawley, Matthew said. "Mary, this is Lady Clarissa Shipton."

The two women greeted each other and exchanged pleasantries, and then Mary gestured them all inside. During their morning tea in the small library, Carson arrived back from downstairs with a suggestion from Mrs Patmore.

"Excuse me, Captain Crawley, Lady Mary," he began. "Mrs Patmore was wondering whether you would like her to pack you a picnic lunch, given this is a rare fine day. What do you think?"

"A picnic?" Matthew said. He and Mary looked at each other, liking the idea. "How about you both?" he asked Alex and Clarissa. "Have you got enough warm clothing? Or would you rather the dining room?"

"A picnic sounds wonderful!" Clarissa looked pleased. "We have got the clothes. And we love being outside and today the sun is shining!"

Mary smiled. "I'm very pleased to hear that there are other people as mad as Matthew and I who are prepared to entertain a picnic in early spring!"

"Thank you, Carson," Matthew turned to face him. "We would love to have a picnic!"

Carson nodded. "I will ask Alfred to accompany you to carry some of the baskets and set it up."

An hour later, warmly clad, they set off. Mary instructed Alfred on where she wanted their picnic: there was a clearing above the lake she knew would be sunny, with lovely views back towards the house, and it wasn't too far.

Alfred went off ahead, carrying one of the rucksacks and the two cane baskets. Alex donned the other rucksack.

"You have a beautiful place here," Clarissa remarked, taking in the parterre gardens they were moving through, and the vista across the manicured lawns to the lake and forest beyond.

"We do. When I have been away and I come back to it, I always feel a little thrill on returning," Mary said. "It's been in our family since 1789."

"That's impressive!" Clarissa answered. "We can't trace our lineage back quite that long. And whilst our estate is expansive, it doesn't have the gracious feel you have here."

"Do you have brothers and sisters?" Mary enquired.

"Yes, an older brother, Charles. He's quite a bit older, and we don't have too much in common. It is he who will take on the Earldom once Papa is gone," she said, a slight hint of wistfulness in her voice. "The trouble is, I don't think he cares for the place in the same way I do. He spends most of his time in London, watching his stocks, and entertaining women many years younger than himself." She sighed.

"Well, I am very pleased for your sake that you have found yourself such a good man in that case," Mary said gently.

"You think he is?" Clarissa asked, and there was a tone in her voice that made Mary stiffen.

"Absolutely. Why, is something the matter?" she asked turning to look at her.

Clarissa slowed down, waiting until Matthew and Alex were far enough ahead to be out of earshot.

"The war has changed him. He doesn't seem to see me, or hear me for that matter. The last few times he's been home, and now this time. He just charges around the place! I'm terrified he's done what so many other men did over there – and, well you know, found other women… or used them to cope," she sighed.

"That… that is what the husband of one of my friends did, and it's been terrible for her! It's made me worry," she finished.

"I don't know about that, Clarissa," Mary said slowly. "But what I do know, from what Matthew has said, is that Alex thinks the world of you. So I doubt it would be that." She paused, and then said carefully, "I also know that he spent most of yesterday afternoon crying in Matthew's arms."

"What?" said Clarissa, aghast.

"Matthew thinks he is exhausted. And grief-stricken. He said something quite awful to me last night. He said that every single one of the soldier-servants that had worked with Alex right from the beginning of the war, except his very last one, well every single one of them died. And all his immediate commanding officers! Several were killed in front of Alex."

Clarissa stared at Mary. "He's never told me that," she said, her voice so low it was almost a whisper. She shook her head. "And then look what happened to his two dearest friends? Matthew and William?" She closed her eyes for a moment.

"Did you know it was Alex who found them? He found the gas mask off William and tried to get it back on. But it had been broken in the blast." She paused, a far away look in her eyes. "He has a medal you will see tomorrow. Distinguished Service Order," she said softly. "That was for William and Matthew. Four of them were recognised. They didn't wait for the medics. They went out, still under fire, to stretcher them back," her lip wobbled. "And then William didn't make it, and Matthew is…" She couldn't finish.

Mary looked at her, stunned by what she had just disclosed. _He's never told Matthew_, she thought.

"But Alex should be all right, shouldn't he?" Clarissa went on, an anguished look on her face. "I mean, he's the one who has got through alive and uninjured. Isn't it Matthew who has more right to be upset?"

"Matthew has been very upset," Mary replied. "But he's had a lot more time than Alex, and he's been able to work through it. Plus he's had the support of a whole medical team. His grief is still there at times, but, yes! For the most part he's coping quite well."

She paused and then asked delicately, "I'm not sure about this Clarissa, but while Alex might not have physical scars, he might have mental scars – we've had some very badly shell-shocked men at the convalescent home, and in some ways that can be worse than physical injuries to deal with. Do you know what shell shock is?"

Clarissa shook her head. "Not exactly." Mary gave a nod and proceeded to describe what it was and some of the signs of it. After she finished, Clarissa looked pensive. "I, I don't know. He's moody, and he does have nightmares, but..." she shrugged.

"It could be guilt," Mary ventured. "Matthew told me once that it was almost harder living, he felt so terribly guilty that William had died. And poor Alex, he's only just home, and that is when it tends to hit them," she finished. "Losing so many men that he worked with!"

Clarissa looked at her. "You know I think that might be what it is. In the rare moments he's actually talked about William and Matthew, I have had the feeling from him that he thinks it's his fault they were hit in the first place. He even tried to refuse the medal but his CO wouldn't let him!"

She paused and then said worriedly, "What can I do, Mary?" I don't know what to do with him!"

"I can only tell you what's helped Matthew," Mary said slowly. "Although my sister Edith will probably have some other good ideas too if what I say is not enough."

So Mary shared with her what they had found worked, and she reiterated the need to give him a lot of time.

"And can you take a holiday?" she asked Clarissa. "Somewhere nice?"

"Yes of course. I just wonder if that's what he would want. Perhaps we just need to stay put, have a holiday at home. Alex has been away so much."

"Ask him. And see what he says," Mary said encouragingly.

They rounded the end of the hedge marking the boundary of the formal gardens with the paddocks beyond, and found Alex and Matthew waiting for them. To their amusement they saw that the men had set up a rock cairn on top of the brick wall, and they were busy throwing stones at it, seeing who could break it down first.

"I'm beating you, Crawley," Alex said after the pebble he had thrown sent two of the stones flying.

"No you're not," said Matthew, scooping up a large looking stone from the path. He took a well-aimed throw, and three stones fell from the cairn. Clarissa and Mary giggled, and predictably, the men started playing up a little more, now that they had an audience.

"Damn," muttered Alex. He looked around for an even larger stone. "Aha!" He aimed, and then missed, and Matthew said derisively, "What do you call that Shipton?"

"A fail," Alex rolled his eyes at Matthew.

And then Matthew's next throw missed. "Ha!" Alex said triumphantly. He hunted around and found a large piece of chiselled slate that had broken from the path. "Ooh, this will be good," he said holding it up.

"Cheat!" said Matthew, "That's not a stone, it's a bloody great rock!"

"Too bad," Alex said, delivering a powerful throw. All of the rest of the stones on the cairn scattered "Told you!" he teased Matthew, and all of them began to laugh.

The hard path had ended, so Matthew asked Alex to help him with his chair. The going didn't prove too difficult, as the week prior had been dry, and the ground was reasonably firm. They made good time walking across the paddocks, and then they began the climb up the winding gravel path through the trees above the lake.

"What a lovely bit of forest!" Clarissa said, looking about appreciatively.

"It is," Mary agreed. "And the spot I've asked Alfred to set up our picnic is a little clearing with views back across the lake to the house."

The path grew steeper, and Alex slowed down. "Too heavy!" he growled.

"What, have I eaten too much cake?" Matthew said innocently.

"Of course not! You don't weigh enough! It's this bloody chair," Alex said grumpily.

"Blasted chair. You called it blasted yesterday," Matthew corrected.

"Blasted then," said Alex. "It's ridiculous. How are you supposed to get yourself around in this? No wonder you're needing to train like a weight lifter!"

"Since when did you get interested in the design of wheelchairs?" Matthew said turning his head around to look at him.

"Since my best friend needed to travel in one," Alex replied promptly. "And I don't like what I see. Surely there's a way to build one that's a lot lighter and easier to move than this!"

"It's a good point," said Mary suddenly. "They aren't designed to make things easy for the person using them. Just last night you were talking about, what was it Matthew?"

"Oh, the arms. That's right. If it didn't have these high arms I was thinking I could get out of it without help."

"Well, you have money Crawley," Alex said, giving the chair a particularly hard push to get up the last steep bit. "Find a friendly engineer, tell them what you want to be able to do, and get them to build you something decent."

Matthew was silent a moment and then he said, "That, Alex is a really good idea."

A little while later, the forest began to open up, and they reached a grassy clearing bathed in sun. "Here we are!" Mary said, looking around in satisfaction. The lake was visible through a gap in the trees. Alfred was busy laying out rugs and unpacking the picnic baskets. Alex slung his rucksack down next to the baskets and turned back to Matthew.

"Where do you want to be, old chap?" Alex asked.

"On the ground if you can give me a hand," he answered, and Alex obliged.

He set Matthew down on the rug, and then he sat himself down in Matthew's wheelchair and tried to roll it.

"This is hard work!" he exclaimed, managing to roll it only a few feet.

"Well it's not really designed to go on grass," Matthew said reasonably.

"Yes, but this ground is quite firm and it's more the weight of the thing," he said shaking his head. He hopped out of it and picked it up and put it down again with a jolt. "Ugh," he said. "It really is heavy!"

He looked at Matthew. "You make it look effortless when you move it. And you coped far better with that session this morning than I did. Just how strong are you?" he frowned.

Matthew shrugged. "Still don't feel strong enough half the time, to be honest!" he said with a sigh.

Alex flopped down on the ground next to him.

"Reckon you'd beat me in an arm wrestle you know," he said a glint in his eye.

"What?" Matthew said.

"Well, when was our last one? Last year during one of those long boring days when the generals were trying to work out tactics and we all had to stick to the dugouts," he said grinning.

"No such chance," Matthew said shaking his head. "I've never beaten you, never ever!"

"So we're on?"

"Since you're insisting, yes."

Mary and Clarissa looked at each other, smiling yet again at the playful competition they were indulging in. Alfred caught their eyes and gave them a wry grin and the three of them settled back to watch.

"All right," Matthew sighed. He took off his greatcoat and his jacket and pushed up his shirtsleeves. He rolled over, facing Alex, who did the same.

"Right hand first," Matthew said.

They clasped hands, and steadied their arms in position, and then Alex said, "Ready, steady, go!"

They each held their own for a good minute, both of them going quite red, and then all of a sudden Matthew forced Alex's arm all the way over.

"Ow!" said Alex. "I told you you'd beat me."

"Can't say that until we've tried the other arm too," said Matthew.

This time they both held their own for even longer, but once again, Matthew got Alex's arm all the way over.

Alex shook his head admiringly. "I rest my case. You're bloody strong now Crawley! And you're only going to get more so." He grinned at Matthew who had rolled onto his back and was massaging his arm.

"I'm actually surprised," said Matthew. "Most of the time I'm cursing myself for not being strong enough. It's hard work when you have to do everything with your upper body."

"Well, when you get that thought next time, remember today. Because you're right, in the past I've always beaten you no problem. But now, even though I've still got my Army fitness, I can't come close!" He smirked. "Perhaps I need to get Sergeant Sybil to write me a programme."

"Like to see you try," Matthew laughed. "It's having her standing over you yelling that makes the real difference!"

"I can't wait to meet this Sergeant Sybil," Clarissa whispered.

Mary giggled. "You will tonight. She's my lovely younger sister!"

Alfred overheard them, and he gave a snort he quickly turned into a cough. Mary couldn't resist teasing him. "Now Alfred, mind you don't go using that nickname by mistake with Lady Sybil!" What you hear on the picnic needs to stay on the picnic!"

"Of course, m'Lady," Alfred said blushing, but with a wide smile all the same.

"I'll leave you all now anyway. When you finish, just leave the gear and I'll come back to fetch it after you have returned."

"Thank you, Alfred," Mary said, and he bade them all good afternoon and set off back to the house.

Clarissa raised her eyebrows and looked at Mary with a smile playing at her lips "That little test would have been a boost for Matthew's ego!"

"It will indeed!" Mary replied and they laughed together.

"Always good to see Alex getting beaten at something physical," Clarissa continued."It doesn't happen often enough! He was always the athletic one at college," she explained. "And very much the ring leader with all they got up to," she raised an eyebrow in a comical expression.

What was Matthew like back then?" Mary asked, seeing that Alex and Matthew were oblivious to them, lying side by side engaged in their own intense conversation.

Clarissa smiled. "Very pretty. And nicely chubby," she shook her head frowning. "It's hard to see him so painfully thin now." She paused, looking at Mary thoughtfully. "And a little bit shy and serious, at least until you got to know him. The opposite of Alex! I think that's why they are so close." She paused again, before saying with a chuckle, "The funniest thing was that Matthew always had girls after him and he never seemed to notice. Completely unaware of his own good looks, and far too studious to make time for relationships!"

Mary laughed, Clarissa's description of Matthew bringing back memories of 1912 and the serious young lawyer with the round cheeks and startling blue eyes who had turned up unexpectedly as her father's heir.

"And what were the others like?" Mary asked.

"Wonderful," Clarissa said, sadness crossing her face. "We had the most lively discussions and debates. A real bunch of intellects. And they were proper gentlemen, you know, courteous and never crass. She leant towards Mary and said conspiratorially, "and Alex and Matthew weren't the only good looking ones either!"

Mary giggled. "Well, Eddie's certainly very fine looking too!"

"As were some of the others," Clarissa said, her face falling a little. "There were two others in particular who had the female students swooning. Richard and Charles," her voice trailed off and she looked out across the lake. "Charles has left behind three young daughters you know. His wife hasn't been the same since he was killed at the Somme."

"Oh my," Mary said. "How awful. Was she also a student?"

Clarissa shook her head. "No. She was a school teacher. He met her through his local church after he moved to Liverpool for work. He'd just been given a promotion at his firm when war broke out. Now hardly any of the lawyers there are still alive."

"I'm so sorry for all of you," Mary said humbly. "To lose so many loved ones and friends." She swallowed the lump in her throat, and they sat back quietly for a few minutes.

Eventually Mary said, "It's high time we ate don't you think?"

Clarissa nodded. "I'm actually starving," she confessed. "Morning tea seems a while back now, and we had very little in the way of breakfast on the train."

Mary looked across at the men. "I trust you've both worked up an appetite," she called out. "Because I'd like one of you to open the wine so we can start our picnic!"

"We have," the two of them chorused, and Matthew sat up and held out his hand for Mary to pass the bottle. He read the label. "Aha, Château Margaux, now this is a real treat!"

"I'll say! Is this Lord Grantham?" asked Alex.

"Yes, he's quite interested in wine, and always makes sure he has a good selection for exactly this sort of occasion," Matthew replied. "Carson assists of course, with a highly organised and well catalogued cellar."

Mary handed across the glasses, and once the wine was poured, they toasted the end of the war, each other, and the wedding, and helped themselves to the delicious luncheon that Alfred had laid out ready for them.

Mrs Patmore had prepared them a French onion tart, and a salad of winter greens. There were chunks of cold chicken and freshly made herbed bread rolls.

"This food is wonderful!" Clarissa said enthusiastically. "It beats anything our cook can do at home," she said nibbling delicately at a fragrant bread roll.

"We are very lucky," Mary agreed. We have an excellent cook, Mrs Patmore, and her assistant cook is actually William's wife Daisy."

"I'd really like to meet Daisy," Alex said in solemn tones.

"You will," Mary reassured him. "We've invited her to the wedding."

"The whole thing? Or just the ceremony?" asked Clarissa.

"The wedding breakfast as well," Mary answered.

"How thoughtful of you both!" Alex said, genuinely surprised and pleased.

"That must surely be a first for our kind of people," Clarissa mused. "How was Cora about it?"

"She was fine. She is American after all, so she doesn't go off over matters like this, unlike Papa." Mary paused, and then went on. "But Papa didn't stand a chance. Because when Matthew voiced our plan to invite Daisy and Mr Mason, the very first person to leap in and support the invitation was Granny!" she smiled, remembering how Violet's reaction had stopped her father's bluster immediately in its tracks.

"Cousin Violet took a real interest in William, from very early on when he started at Downton," Matthew explained. "She was terribly upset when he was injured, and she personally took on helping them to marry just before he died."

"I was so pleased when you wrote to me that they had been able to marry," Alex swallowed. "A small comfort to them both in a terrible situation." He closed his eyes for a moment, fighting back tears.

Matthew instinctively put his hand on Alex's shoulder, his gesture of support not lost on Clarissa who gave Matthew a grateful look. "It was. And not just a comfort to them, but also to William's father," he said. "And you will meet him tonight, Alex."

They were quiet a moment, all of them aware Alex needed a moment to compose himself. Eventually Clarissa spoke. "Fancy your Grandmother being prepared to forego so much tradition!"

Matthew and Mary exchanged smiles. "Cousin Violet is an intriguing woman," said Matthew. "Very dogmatic on some matters, and unexpectedly modern on others. You never quite know on what side she's going to land, and she had the most extraordinarily sharp tongue, which all of us have been victims of!"

Mary giggled. "Particularly Isobel!"

"And now Isobel and Violet are the best of friends, but that doesn't stop them having the most phenomenal rows at times," grinned Matthew.

They finished their meal, and Mary looked back into the picnic baskets to see what treats had been packed for them for dessert. She pulled out a cake box, and carefully opened it. It was full of macarons and delicate French pastries.

She passed the box to Clarissa, who gasped with delight when she saw what was on offer. "These are exquisitely made!" she said, lifting out a miniature Pain au Chocolat.

"This will be Daisy's handiwork, no doubt," said Mary. "She's got quite a flare for pastries and desserts. She makes beautiful lemon soufflé, and Mama is often getting dinner guests asking in advance if she can include it in the dessert menu!"

There was a comfortable silence whilst they each enjoyed more than one of the sweet, buttery pastries, and fragrant raspberry macarons.

After he had finished his third macaron, Alex gave a satisfied sigh and flopped onto his stomach. "Clarissa," he said. "Are you still keen on a country life?"

"Of course my dear. But aren't you the one who is a little less keen?"

"I was. But Matthew's made me a job offer which might allow both of us what we want."

"Really?" Clarissa said, looking interested. "Please tell me more!" she moved across to sit next to her husband. As they talked, Mary packed up the picnic baskets. She suddenly felt quite tired. Looking across at Matthew, she could see he was yawning too.

"How about you have a rest?" she said gently. "Big night ahead, and even bigger day tomorrow!"

"If you do too," he said. She nodded, and spread the rug out properly. Matthew pulled his coat back on. He rolled onto his front, and shuffled over on his elbows until he was next to her.

Mary stretched out and tucked her hands behind her head. "I do hope this weather holds for us tomorrow," she said. "We're a bit mad, aren't we, getting married this early in spring!"

"Mad keen is what we are," Matthew said with another yawn. "Don't want to wait any longer than absolutely necessary!"

Mary giggled, and then she had to cover her mouth quickly as a yawn overtook her. She glanced at Matthew and saw that he had his head down on his arms and his eyes were closing. She reached over and clasped his hand and within a few minutes both of them were asleep.

Alex and Clarissa noticed the silence, gave each other a look and a smile, and they quietly got up and took themselves off for a walk.

Matthew was awoken by something tickling his nose. "Wakey, wakey," someone was saying in a teasing voice. He groaned "Go away Alex!" but the tickling continued, so finally he rolled over and sat up, rubbing his eyes.

"God, how long have we been asleep?" he said noticing the shadows were getting long.

"About an hour. We've had a marvellous walk, right up to the top of the hill and back while you were off in dreamland!"

Matthew leaned across and shook Mary's shoulder gently. "Mary, it's time to wake up!" she stirred, and opened her eyes, looking around a little confused until she remembered where they were.

"Oh Matthew.. that was the most delightful rest," she said. I don't think I've ever slept quite so well lying on the ground!"

"We will have to come back here again. For another picnic and a sleep!" he teased. "But for now, it's high time we headed back."

On the walk home, Clarissa and Mary got into an animated discussion about horses. Dressage was Clarissa's passion, and Mary had a vision of Clarissa with her future daughters, dressed to the nines on their ponies, with their mother setting a shining example. As much as they were both quite different, horses aside, she was warming to the woman, and she could see how her straight forward, no-nonsense approach was such a good match for the sensitive, impetuous Alex.

They arrived back just before the dressing gong, and Mary and Matthew reluctantly kissed each other good night, as consistent with the American tradition, Mary was not to see Matthew until the wedding ceremony the next day. Clarissa would join her and the family for dinner, and Alex and Matthew had planned to eat early with the convalescing officers, to give themselves time to get ready for the drinks later on.

0-0-0-0-0-0

The small library began to get quite full, as all the men that Matthew had invited to his pre-wedding drinks began to arrive.

_What an eclectic bunch,_ Matthew thought. A bit like himself he realised in amusement. _Be raised middle class; arrive at the aristocracy unexpectedly; and serve as a soldier in a brutal war and returned injured. And look how it colours one's group of friends!_

Anthony Strallan arrived, assisted by a nurse, and she helped him to a seat by the fire. He had made reasonable progress with his recovery since he had been up at the convalescent home, and Matthew had no doubt that Edith's constant care and presence was the main reason for that.

"Anthony," he said. "I'm really pleased you could join us! I hope we don't tire you out when things get rowdy later on," he grinned.

"Matthew, I very much hope that they do," Anthony raised an eyebrow. "It might remind me what it is like to be young and healthy again, and right now I could do with such a reminder!"

Bates arrived to a chorus of greetings, many of those there having not seen him since his return from jail exactly a week before. He had been thrilled to be asked. Matthew glanced at Sergeant Barrow, who was talking with Eddie. He hoped that Barrow and Bates would be able stand being in the same room.

He was likewise a little worried about Tom, and his penchant for political conversation. He knew his politics and Robert's rested at opposite ends of the political spectrum, and Robert was inclined to get belligerent with a little whiskey on board.

Evelyn rolled in, the last of them to arrive. "Evelyn," Matthew said greeting him. "You didn't bring your sticks!" Evelyn was learning to walk with crutches, his broken leg finally healed enough to bear his weight, and a prosthesis now fitted for the other.

"No," Evelyn drawled, giving him a grin. "I'm still a little unsteady on them, and I thought to myself, whisky and crutches? And quickly decided wheels were a safer option."

Matthew, and Edward who was standing next to him, both laughed. "Good move, especially given this is a night when we might want to indulge in more than just one!" Edward said.

Evelyn grinned. "I'm almost looking forward to the headache, we've had such a drought where liquor's concerned around here!" He paused and looked at Matthew expectantly. "Now Crawley, I think it's high time you introduced me to Colonel Shipton. This fellow," he jerked his head at Edward, "has been on about him all day!"

Matthew immediately obliged, and slowly circulated the room making the necessary introductions between the other of his various friends.

A little while later he found Mr Mason talking with Major Clarkson in a quieter corner of the room, and he motioned Alex to come over.

"Mr Mason," he said, "May I have the pleasure of introducing you to Colonel Shipton, who was my and William's commanding officer, and a very good friend of your son."

He knew that it would be an emotional moment for both of them, and Major Clarkson knew likewise, so the two of them drew back to let the two men converse in relative privacy. Matthew pushed a handkerchief into Alex's hand, knowing he wouldn't have thought to bring one, before turning back to the others.

Later in the evening, as the laughter and conversation grew steadily louder, Robert called them all to attention, and Carson began to circulate the room handing out flutes of champagne.

"Gentlemen," he said, clearing his throat.

"We are all here tonight, as friends and family of Matthew, to show him our support for his upcoming marriage to my daughter Mary. And it's fallen to me to say a few words on this happy occasion.

"Since Matthew arrived at our home in 1912, I have come to regard him as my son. He has a keen mind, and a kind heart, and having come to us unbound by tradition and with an established career, he has brought with him fresh ideas and expertise which has already been making a difference to this estate and the village of Downton.

"For some time now, he has held a special place in the heart of my daughter Mary, and when he came to me recently and sought my blessing for their marriage, it was the happiest day I have had in many years.

"Matthew, I want you to know that I deeply admire you and that I am extremely proud that from tomorrow I will be able to call you my son-in-law, as well as my heir. All the more so, that this triumphs what for you can only be called a year from hell, during which we very nearly lost you," he said his voice catching slightly.

Robert cleared his throat. "Therefore, it's with the greatest of pleasure and pride that I propose this toast. Let us raise our glasses gentlemen, please. To Matthew! To your health and happiness"

"To Matthew," they chorused, and then there was a silence, waiting for his reply.

"Thank you for being here tonight," Matthew began. "I want you to know that all of you in this room are people I consider my friends. For some it's a recent friendship, and others of you, it's been a long time. I have had a lot of support from so many of you over this past year, which without a doubt, has been without a doubt one of the most horrid of my life. You have made it easier for me with the support you have given, and are still giving. And I want you all to know I feel blessed to know each and everyone of you.

"There is another group of men who are not with us that I would like to take the opportunity to remember tonight. They are all men I count among my closest friends, and they are all men that I miss dearly. Aside from my father, all of them were taken by this war," Matthew paused and took a deep breath to compose himself. Edward and Alex moved to stand beside Matthew.

"I would like to propose a toast in their memory," he said. "Gentlemen, could you please raise your glasses: To my father Reginald Crawley; to William Mason, who served alongside Alex and myself for six months in France;

"And to my, Eddie and Alex's Oxford friends who served on the Western front; Stewart James; Joseph Hunt, Richard Worthington…" Matthew had to pause a moment to steady his voice. "Howard Jameson; Charles Brunton; Harry Brown and Leonard Chester. We will miss you forever. God bless you and may you rest in peace."

It was just after 11.00 o'clock when Matthew left. He went to the bathroom first, and when he entered his bedroom, he was surprised and pleased to find his mother there, sitting in the armchair in the corner of the room knitting.

"Mother!" he said in surprise. "I didn't know you were on duty tonight!"

She smiled at him. "I wasn't supposed to be, but Sister Thomsen was feeling poorly and asked me to step in. And of course it gave me the perfect excuse to be here to check on my son the night before his wedding!"

She rang the bell, and then sat back down and asked Matthew how it had gone.

"It was very special," Matthew said. "Robert gave a very nice speech in my honour, and there were some animated conversations going on between the most unlikely groups of people," he said with a grin.

"Tell me more!" Isobel said, intrigued.

"Well, Evelyn and Robert ended up in a political argument, mediated by Bates, who as it turned out has been doing a lot of reading in jail and he was totally up with the latest on Lloyd George, Bonar Law, Churchill and the rest of them!" Matthew shook his head.

"I was expecting Tom to be the one having the political row with Robert, but he spent the evening talking farming with Anthony, Major Clarkson and Mr Mason." Matthew looked at his mother quizzically. "Turns out Tom knows a lot about farming from his childhood in Ireland. And has Major Clarkson ever told you he wanted to be a veterinarian? It was news to me!"

Isobel chuckled. "He has, as a matter of fact. Apparently his father talked him out of it, but sometimes he will make a cryptic comment that gets me wondering if he still rues his decision to look after people instead of farm stock!"

"Oh dear," Matthew laughed.

"How was Alex?" Isobel asked, her face becoming serious. "He was all right," Matthew sighed. "Tearful when he talked with Mr Mason about William, and again when I did the toast for all our friends that have died.

"What was nice was that everyone there understood, so it didn't matter. Mr Mason had a long talk to him, and so did Eddie and Evelyn. I know all of that would have really helped."

"You are a very good friend to him," Isobel said quietly.

"You know I see it the other way around, Mother," Matthew replied.

Isobel nodded, thinking how grateful she was for the strong friendship between her son and Alex. He was a fine young man she had admired and enjoyed the company of, ever since Matthew had brought him home to stay with them for a few days at New Year during his first year at Oxford.

There was a knock on the door, and Sergeant Barrow came in, giving Matthew a wide smile.

"Great night Captain!" he said, dispensing with his usual formality. "Don't think I've ever enjoyed a social event in this place more!"

"Thank you, Sergeant," Matthew said grinning. "It was very pleasant. You have all been so very good to me! I was glad to have such an opportunity to acknowledge that and enjoy a little whisky at the same time."

"Indeed," Sergeant Barrow replied. "You have a most interesting group of friends if I may be so forward as to say so. Lieutenant Donovan has an excellent repertoire of jokes. And I did enjoy meeting Colonel Shipton. He had a very good reputation among the medical corps at the front when I was serving. It was an honour to meet him at last," Sergeant Barrow paused and then said, "Sir, I'm aware how late it is. What may I assist you with?"

"Just get me onto the bed Sergeant," Matthew replied. "Mother will help me with the rest. We've got a bit of catching up to do before tomorrow."

After the Sergeant had left, Isobel helped Matthew into pyjamas and began taking him through his stretching routine. As she did so, he told her about their picnic, and how happy Alex and Clarissa had seemed together with the opportunity to just relax.

"Is Alex going to work with you?" she asked.

"I think he may well," Matthew said thoughtfully. "He and Clarissa have a bit more to talk through, but from the way they were talking after lunch, it seemed they were both leaning that way. Like me, Alex can see the real opportunity there could be if we can expand the firm, perhaps York, or even London with all that's happening in the industrial law area."

"It's very exciting for you," said Isobel. "Where is Mary with all of this?" She began the stretches on his other leg.

"She's very supportive. And did you hear what we got Robert to agree to?"

"No," said Isobel. "Tell me!"

"Mary is…" Matthew began and then he stopped suddenly. "Mother, that leg is sore. Is it bruised?"

"As a matter of fact, it is a little bruised," Isobel said absentmindedly, "Did you hit something?" She suddenly realised what he had just said, and she stopped and asked, "Matthew, just how much can you feel there?"

"More than before," Matthew replied. "It is my calf, isn't it?"

"It is," she said, pleased he could tell: to be able to feel more definitely and know where it was on his leg was progress.

"I wonder if it means I might eventually be able to move it?" Matthew asked suddenly.

"That's not a question I can answer, my dear," Isobel replied. "It is an area of medicine I don't know enough about."

"You and every other medic about the place!" Matthew felt a rare flash of exasperation.

"I'm afraid so," Isobel looked at him sympathetically. "I'm sorry you are still waiting for your specialist appointment. But it's not long now until you see Dr Jones is it?" Matthew nodded and sighed "I'm sorry for grumping. It getting more and more difficult not knowing what any of these changes mean."

Isobel made a sympathetic noise and then she remembered they hadn't finished their earlier conversation. "Matthew, you were about to tell me something," she started.

"That's right, I was." Matthew realised. "Mary is going to replace Jarvis as the land agent!" he said triumphantly.

"And Robert agreed?" Isobel was incredulous.

"Yes. Strangely enough he did. Somehow this year he's actually seen Mary, and what she's capable of, in a way he's never before."

"Pity it's been such a long time coming," Isobel remarked drily. Robert's inability to see his eldest daughter's many talents had always vexed her. "And when does she expect to start?"

"In May. As you know, her work at the hospital office is down to one day a week now. But she wants to continue her nursing until the convalescent home closes."

"She said that to me too," Isobel commented. "It makes sense. Things will stay busy around here until all of the patients have gone, and we've already lost a couple of the VAD's. And of course, I imagine she will want a bit of time to do some reading and talking to Jarvis before he goes in any case."

"She certainly will," Matthew agreed. "I'm really pleased for her, Mother! It feels like a good outcome, for us, and for Downton." He paused. "You know, I hope, for her sake, that it also makes her relationship with Robert a little easier."

"I'm sure it will my dear," said Isobel. With the stretching routine now finished, she helped her son get properly into bed, and then stood up and went to the hand basin to wash her hands.

"Now my dear," she turned back to him as she towelled her hands dry. "It's high time you tried to sleep. Are you comfortable?"

"I am, thank you Mother," he smiled, and found himself yawning suddenly.

"Do you need anything else before I go, Matthew?" Isobel asked as she went to switch off the bedside lamp.

"No, " he answered. "It was nice to talk Mother. A nice end to a really nice day," and the bade each other good night.


	31. Chapter 31

"Good morning, m' Lady," Anna said cheerily, opening the curtains. "You've a lovely day for your wedding!"

Mary was instantly awake, a thrill of excitement and nervousness coursing through her. She sat up and looked out the window and smiled with relief when she saw the wooded hills in the distance bathed golden in the early morning sunlight. _It's fine. Thank goodness,_ she thought.

"How marvellous Anna!" She reached for her gown and hopped out of bed. "Just look," she said in a hushed voice gazing at the view. "I hadn't dared hope for such a day, and yet here it is,"

"And much deserved," Anna said, with more than a little feeling.

After a light breakfast of tea and toast, which was all Mary could manage with the butterflies in her stomach, she had a very pleasant bath, in water that Anna had made fragrant with drops of lavender oil, and then it was time to get ready.

Anna laid out her underclothes and helped her into them: soft cotton knickers, finely embroidered silk stockings and a luxurious new silk chemise. Then it was time for lacing the brand new corset she had bought specially for under her wedding dress.

"Your underclothes are very pretty!" Anna said standing back and admiring her. "And those stockings are lovely, she added approvingly. "I do think they are nicer with a simpler pattern."

"I agree," Mary answered. "I didn't want anything too fussy. I wanted a formal, rather than a pretty look, us having an Army wedding."

She donned a gown and sat down at the dressing table for Anna to start on her face and hair. She had her jewellery on, and the crimping was almost finished when there was a knock at the door, and Sybil and Edith came in, smiles on their faces.

"How are you, my dear?" Edith said. "I do hope you managed to sleep!"

"A little," she replied. "But I must confess it felt like it used to when we were little girls on Christmas Eve. I kept waking, wondering if it was the morning yet!"

Her sisters laughed. "Well, you look rested, so that's something," Sybil commented. "And your hair is looking marvellous!" she said admiring the careful layering that Anna had done.

"Has Mama been up yet?" she asked.

Mary shook her head, her smile disappearing. "No, she hasn't." She paused, looking a little worried. "She is going to come today, isn't she?"

"Of course," Edith said quickly. "We were with her yesterday when she tried on the dress she has had made to wear. Maybe she will be up to see you a little later."

"I do hope so," Mary said in a small voice. Her mother's lack of support for her pending union with Matthew remained a source of hurt.

"Mary, I'm sure she will come round," Sybil said putting her hand on her arm. "There will be so many people there today supporting your marriage, it's bound to rub off on Mama!"

"I do hope you are right," Mary said with a sigh. "It has been very hard working with her to plan it when she has been so clearly against it even taking place!"

Her sisters looked at her sympathetically, unsure of what to say. Cora's continued stonewalling of Mary and Matthew's relationship had become a source of tension for them all, and in the last few weeks, as the wedding had drawn nearer, it had become even more pronounced.

Mary couldn't recall, in fact, when it was they had last shared an intimate mother and daughter chat: when they had talked of late, it had been only to discuss the organisational details of the wedding, or occasionally the administrative work they were respectively engaged in at the convalescent home and the hospital.

_At least she's offered to look after the hospital office whilst I'm on my honeymoon,_ Mary thought. When Cora had first offered, Mary had felt, perhaps a little too optimistically, that it was a sign her mother was starting to accept their union. But Cora's quite deliberate avoidance of her in the past few days had now put paid to that.

Finally, Edith spoke, sensing a change of subject was required. "It was a lovely evening last night," she began. "So very pleasant to have Clarissa with us. She was very interested in the writing I have been doing, and she suggested I submit some items to _The Sketch_, which she believes would be very interested in the perspective I have been taking."

"That's promising," Mary raised her eyebrows at her sister looking impressed. "_The Sketch_ is well thought of in our circles."

"It is," Edith agreed. "And did you know that Clarissa herself also writes? Apparently, she has had some short stories published in the _Oxford Magazine_, and she is hoping to start on some more. And what an incredible knowledge she has of horses!"

"She and Sarah-Jane both," Sybil added. "I started to feel ashamed of my own poor knowledge listening to them!" she giggled. "I should have paid more attention during my riding lessons, clearly."

Mary smiled. "I think so! Imagine what they will both be like when they have their children! I can see the little ones on the ponies now."

Anna cleared her throat. "Excuse me, m' Lady," she said smiling. "It is time we got you into your wedding gown. Lady Sybil and Lady Edith, would you mind helping me with Lady Mary's veil please."

With ten minutes remaining before she was to take her father's arm and proceed to the waiting carriage, Mary reluctantly resigned herself to the knowledge that she would not be seeing her mother before the service. Edith and Sybil had left a little while before, and Anna was busy with the last minute adjustments to her gown and veil. "She hasn't come, Anna," she said sadly.

"Oh m' Lady, it's just too bad," Anna said sympathetically. She tugged out a slight crease in Mary's veil. "But you know you are following your heart. That's what matters," she tried to reassure her.

Mary nodded. She knew Anna was right. She and Matthew belonged together. And all of the storms they had weathered had only brought them closer. Perhaps Mama would come to see that in time.

"That is true Anna. But I had still hoped Mama would at least wish me luck for my special day. I only intend to do this once in my life you know!"

"It's only natural that you be disappointed, m' Lady," Anna said kindly. "She is your mother after all." They lapsed into silence, Anna continuing to smooth out her veil and adjust her dress.

Finally, Mary took a deep breath and gave herself a talking to. _Don't let it spoil your day,_ she told herself. _Remember what Isobel says: "Cora will eventually come around, it might just take her longer than everyone else."_ She shook herself out of her reverie and taking a deep breath she smiled at Anna and said, "Very well, Anna. Tell Papa that I am ready."

0-0-0-0-0-0-

The St Michael and All Angels Church was crowded for the morning service, the guests including a good number of local people, staff from the hospital and convalescent home, and servicemen.

A murmur of approval went through the crowd when Mary entered on her father's arm. Robert looked almost regal in his dress uniform with its medals, aiguillette, sword and scabbard. Mary was stunning in her warm cream dress: its elegant lines and the spray of fine beads across her shoulder flattering to her tall, slender figure. The two village youngsters that Mrs Hughes had organised to be Mary's flower girls were pretty in simple matching frocks, their hair adorned with circlets of fragrant spring flowers.

Alex and Matthew waited at the front, Sergeant Barrow and Alfred having seen to it that the brass buttons and buckles on their uniforms were so highly polished they almost dazzled.

As Mary drew close, Alex put his hand on Matthew's shoulder. "Ready old chap?" he said giving him a wink.

"Am I ever," Matthew replied. Taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, he turned his head, and he and Alex smiled at Mary as she took her last few steps up the aisle on her father's arm. Robert sat, and Matthew and Mary moved to their places in front of the altar. With a brief smile and a nod to the bride and groom, the Chaplain cleared his throat, looked up, and addressed the congregation. The ceremony had begun. Their vows went smoothly, and the palpable devotion of the pair, and the reverence with which they recited each word brought tears to the eyes of more than a few in the gathered crowd. Sybil sniffled audibly, and was rewarded with a sharp elbow in the ribs from her mother, tempered somewhat by the reassuring pat she received from Edith who was seated on her other side. Edith, too, had her handkerchief out.

Alex followed the Chaplain's words of dismissal, with the command for the honour guard to form, and the officers assembled in the centre aisle, resplendent in red and black.

"Draw swords!" he shouted, and they raised their swords to form the Arch of Sabres. Mary and Matthew smiled widely at each other and proceeded underneath. When the final pair of swords lowered to block their path, Matthew pulled Mary into his lap and kissed her, to many shouts and cheers. Exiting the arch they turned and saluted the officers, both of them a little emotional before Alex gave the command to sheath swords.

The ceremony over, they spent quite some time greeting the many well-wishers, who had gathered outside the church.

One of the first to greet them was Mrs Pearson, Ryan shyly holding onto one of her hands, and Molly, who gave Matthew a very big smile, holding onto the other.

"What a lovely day for you both," Mrs Pearson said happily, and she introduced both her children to Mary and Ryan to Matthew. After they had exchanged greetings, Mrs Pearson remarked, "I'm very impressed with your dress Lady Mary!"

"It's not bad for a store-bought gown, is it?" Mary raised her eyebrows. "And we were delighted with what you have created for Daisy. She looks marvellous in her dress!"

Mrs Pearson smiled. "She wears it very well," she said approvingly. "And I was very pleased with how the hat worked out too. I had a lot of fun with Mrs Joyce, the milliner in working out a suitable design.

"You know," she went on, "I would love the chance to do more work like that if I could."

"I'm glad you said that," Mary replied. "Daisy has already had a few people up at the Abbey asking about her dress. And just now I overheard someone asking about it when we came out of the church!"

"Mr Matthew," Molly said shyly. "When can we come and see you? I have made you a present."

Matthew smiled at her and he took her hand. "A present? Molly, you are very kind and I will greatly look forward to that. I have arranged with your mother for you all to come to tea in three weeks. We will be back from our honeymoon by then."

"Ooh!" Molly squealed in delight. "At the big house?"

"Yes Molly," Matthew replied. "And promise me you will be good to your Mam in the meantime."

"Of course," Molly replied smiling happily. "I can't wait Mr Matthew!"

Matthew called out to Alex and beckoned him across. "Mrs Pearson," he said, "I would like you to meet Colonel Shipton, who like me, was with the Duke of Manchester's Own." He paused, and then added gently, "Colonel Shipton also knew Jack."

Alex shook Mrs Pearson's hand. "I'm most honoured to meet you, Sir," she said her voice low. "It gives me great comfort when I have the opportunity to meet up with some of the men that Jack served with."

"Of course," Alex answered solemnly. "I'm truly sorry for your loss Mrs Pearson. Corporal Pearson was a good man and well liked. We all enjoyed his fun, and his fine singing voice," he paused, and then aware of the children's eyes on him, he smiled and said, "and you both must be Molly and Ryan! Do you know, your Dad was very proud of you indeed! He told us some lovely stories about you and what you like to get up to."

Molly and Ryan smiled shyly, and then Ryan said hesitantly, "Sir, may I ask about your medals? I've not seen an officer with so many before!" he said, his eyes wide. "Of course." Alex knelt down beside them both, and, pointing at each one, started to explain what they each were.

As they continued to circulate, Mary grew increasingly amazed at the many people who seemed to know Matthew, and who were coming up to offer their congratulations. "My darling," she whispered at one point. "Is there anyone left in the village that doesn't think you are their very best friend?" she said after he had been required to introduce her to yet another couple she had never met, despite having spent her life at Downton.

When, at last, they were settled in the carriage for the trip back to the Abbey, they both looked at each other and gave a simultaneous sigh of relief.

Mary giggled. "It's nice to have a few minutes of peace! Getting married is surprisingly hard work. Very nice, but my face is already sore from smiling and we have the wedding breakfast to get through yet!

"And how about you my darling? Did you find it all right?" she said leaning across and kissing him on the cheek.

He took her hand and clasped it between his. "My dear wife," he said, relishing being able to use the term. "I am very happy indeed! I liked that there were so many soldiers and people from the village. I felt I could be me. It was very, very special."

"It was," Mary said softly. "If you had told me, even just a year ago that I would end up actually wanting a wedding like this, I would have never believed you. But it felt so personal and so very right for us. A triumph after the year we have both had!" Her dark eyes were intense as she looked at him a little solemnly.

Matthew gazed back, and he shook his head softly, his eyes suddenly bright. "It's been one hell of a ride hasn't it, my darling," he said his voice low. "And you are so right. This is such a wonderful triumph."

He leant across and kissed her. The slight prickle of his chin against her cheek and the softness and warmth of his lips was exquisite. She kissed him back, hungry for him now, her tongue pressing against his, and her hands buried in his silky hair. He sighed with pleasure, his mouth responding eagerly to hers, and they continued to kiss until the carriage came to a stop outside the entrance to the Abbey.

They pulled apart reluctantly, both of them flushed. Mary reached up and smoothed Matthew's hair back. "That's better," she murmured. He straightened her veil, and they looked at each other and laughed, and waited for Barrow to open the carriage door.

The grand hall of Downton Abbey had been decorated beautifully with bunting and spring flowers for the wedding breakfast.

Alex surpassed himself as Master of Ceremonies, sharing a series of funny stories from Matthew's university days and early work life that had the guests in fits of laughter, and finishing with a very moving tribute to them both and who they were as a couple.

After their conversation the day before, Clarissa took it upon herself to take Daisy under her wing, introducing her to various guests, and making sure they knew of her connection to William and his friendship with Matthew and Alex.

Matthew's heartfelt tribute to William that he included in his speech, and his acknowledgement of Mr Mason and Daisy did the trick: the guests Clarissa introduced Daisy to went out of their way to make her feel comfortable.

Evelyn's mother, Lady Branksome was particularly effusive, having heard a lot from her son about William and how he had supported Matthew at the Front.

She enquired after Daisy's health and asked her delicately how she was getting on without William. She was surprised and pleased when she discovered that she was Mrs Patmore's assistant cook.

"So you are that Daisy! Do you know, I have always wanted the honour of meeting you. I understand from Lady Grantham that you are the person responsible for the superb lemon soufflé we have enjoyed on many occasions here."

Daisy blushed. "I've had a good teacher, my Lady. Mrs Patmore. She's got an excellent set of recipes, and she doesn't stand for anything that's not perfect!"

"And it certainly shows in how she has trained you!" Lady Branksome smiled. "And may I ask where you got that most pretty gown you are wearing?" she said, looking approvingly at Daisy's outfit. "It is very smart indeed."

Daisy's smile widened. "Mrs Pearson designed it," she said unable to contain her enthusiasm. "And she helped the milliner to design the special hat to match! I've never had such a fine gown in all me life!"

"Mrs Pearson? Is she someone local?" Lady Branksome asked quizzically, Pearson not being a name she was familiar with. "It is a very elegant garment indeed!"

Daisy nodded. "Yes. She works with Mrs Dunne at the haberdashery," she said. "But she's only been here a little while. She's originally from Manchester and her late husband was a Corporal in Captain Crawley's regiment," she explained.

"Oh, I see. That is probably why I hadn't heard her name before," she replied, a look of sadness coming over her face as she realised the Mrs Pearson in question was yet another war widow. "This is very fine work. Is she interested in designing and making garments for others?"

"I understand from what Lady Mary said that she is. Lady Mary told me she has a lot of knowledge about ladies fashions." Daisy paused, wondering whether to say more and then she added, "If you do like what she does, you can ask for her through Mrs Dunne at the haberdashery in the village."

"Mrs Pearson, who can be reached through the haberdashery," Lady Branksome echoed. "Thank you, my dear. I will most certainly keep her in mind."

Matthew and Isobel spent a pleasant few minutes catching up with Lavinia and her fiancé Jonathan.

"I wanted to thank you for inviting us Matthew," Lavinia said shyly. "It's wonderful to see you so well and so happy," she said fervently, blinking back tears. "It really is!"

"And it is wonderful to see you so happy, my dear," Matthew said returning the smile. He looked at Jonathan. and asked, "And what are your plans after you are married?"

"We're going to return to Manchester," the slight, brown-haired young man replied. "I have a transfer organised to the city branch of the Bank of England there, and my family has made a house available for us."

"And it has a music room with a grand piano!" Lavinia added. "I'm planning to offer piano lessons for children," she said happily.

"What a wonderful outlet for your musical talent, my dear!" Isobel said. "And please tell me, how is Reggie?"

"He's not very well, truth be told," Lavinia said, her face clouding. "Trouble with his breathing. The doctors are not sure if it is a lung complaint, or to do with his heart." She paused, and then forced a smile, adding, "He sends his regards to you all, and Matthew he specifically told me to tell you he's very impressed with what you have been doing to help the returned soldiers – he's been hearing about it from Viscount Branksome at his club."

"Please thank him for the compliment on my behalf," Matthew said. "And do give him my warmest regards," he added. It saddened him to hear that Reggie Swire was not well. He had a lot of respect for the man. He was thoughtful and well read, and always most interesting to converse with. And Matthew had always admired his devotion to his only child, whom he had raised single-handedly after Lavinia's mother and the infant that would have been her sister had died in childbirth.

It was late afternoon before most of the guests departed. Alex and Clarissa lingered in the grand hall, reluctant to leave.

Alex was quiet all of a sudden, and Mary put her hand on Matthew's shoulder and whispered, "Take a minute with him. I'll take Clarissa outside." She tucked her arm in Clarissa's and said, "Come this way my dear, I've had a thought about where we might ride next time you visit."

When they reached the terrace, Clarissa turned to her and said, "You did that to give Alex some time with Matthew, didn't you," she said a slight frown on her face.

Mary nodded. Clarissa was silent for a moment, and then she sat herself down on one of the wrought iron chairs. Mary took a seat opposite her.

"The last few days have been wonderful Mary," Clarissa said wistfully. "It started to feel like we were us again. I've heard him laugh. Do you know how long it has been since I heard him laugh?" she said and she couldn't stop a tear running down her cheek.

"And Matthew has been amazing with him. He seems to know exactly what Alex needs," she paused. "I am in awe of him, I really am. He is different. He has a strength and self-assurance I've never seen in him and I've known him since we were both eighteen."

Mary leaned forward, her elbows on the wrought iron table between them, her hands clasped. She looked across at Clarissa, her face serious.

"I think," she said slowly "that Matthew has had to develop that just to survive. It has been a very hard year. In some ways, the shellshock has been worse than his physical injuries, and having to cope with both together hasn't left him much choice but to really believe in himself and not allow any self-doubt. If he doesn't, he risks everything falling apart."

"He's had to deal with shellshock as well?" Clarissa said, stunned.

Mary nodded. "At times it's been quite severe. If you will forgive me for swearing, Matthew has well and truly been to hell and back," she said shaking her head. Clarissa gazed at her a moment, thinking.

"It's quite extraordinary," she contemplated. "Here he is, physically ravaged, and emotionally too from what you have said, and yet with all of that he seems somehow bigger as a person," she shook her head. "Invincible even!" She smiled and then continued. "I mean, just look at him! In a wonderful marriage; a tower of strength to his friends; and rapidly re-establishing his pre-war career. And if the way people related to him at the wedding this morning is anything to go by, he is already a greatly admired leader in the county!" she said. "You must be very proud my dear."

"Pride doesn't do what I feel for him justice," Mary said fervently. "I fall more and more in love with him every day."

Clarissa looked at her smiling, tears unexpectedly pricking the back of her eyes. "Oh Mary," she said, reaching over and clasping her hands. "I am so very happy for you both! I really, really am," she said, a catch in her voice. She swallowed and then glanced around, suddenly aware the shadows were lengthening.

"We really must get going," she said reluctantly. "Or we'll end up missing the evening train! You must come and stay with us in London soon. And hopefully, by then Alex and I will have made a decision about what we want to do."

"We will both very much look forward to that!" Mary said. "And for now, let's find these men. It wouldn't do for you to miss your transport."

0-0-0-0-0-0

Darkness was falling. The family farewells over, the two of them waited at the entrance whilst Branson brought the motor vehicle around, and Sergeant Barrow and Alfred loaded their trunks.

"Ready darling?" Matthew said, lifting Mary's hand and brushing it with his lips. "What do you think?" she murmured playfully. He gave a heady sigh, and held her hand against his warm cheek, nuzzling it gently.

"How far do we have to drive?" Mary said, suddenly a little breathless.

"I'm not sure exactly. Perhaps a couple of hours," he answered softly, continuing to nuzzle her hand in a manner she found most delicious. "Branson will make sure we have a break on the way."

Branson signaled to them from the drive. "We're ready Sir, Lady Mary," and the two of them proceeded across to the waiting car.

Their suite in the small hotel on the Scarborough promenade was comfortable and tastefully decorated. Supper was an intimate affair, the warm bread rolls and freshly churned white butter the perfect complement to the intensely flavoured truffle infused _bisque_ that had prepared specially for the late arriving honeymoon couple by the hotel's French chef.

Matthew couldn't help laughing at the look of blissful surprise on Mary's face as she savoured her first mouthful. "Fine enough for you, Lady Mary?" he teased.

"Faultless," she murmured happily. "And the champagne, future Lord Grantham? Worthy of your discerning palate?"

Matthew raised his eyebrows at her and took a sip of his champagne, rolling it a little around his mouth. "Most fine indeed, my Lady," he deadpanned. "My tongue has been teased by a tumult of tiny bubbles and my taste buds tickled by gooseberries and green apples."

Mary giggled. "I dare you to say that in front of Papa next time he serves _Moët Impérial_!"

They held hands across the table, reflecting on the day that had been, and delighting in having time finally, just for the two of them. Sergeant Barrow kept a discreet distance, returning to the table only when their glasses needed a top up.

After they had finished the delicious _bisque_, he brought through a beautifully displayed platter of fresh fruit and cheese, which he placed, not without a little deliberate aplomb, on the table between them.

"A _digestif_ Captain Crawley? Lady Mary?" he enquired.

"How about a _Sauternes_, Sergeant?" Matthew replied. "Would you mind asking the Chef to recommend one to accompany our platter?"

Barrow disappeared and reappeared a few minutes later with a bottle of _Château d'Yquem_. He presented it to Matthew. "This is what Chef recommends," Barrow said.

"Thank you, Sergeant," Matthew said, recognising it at once. "It looks perfect."

When the last of the _Sauternes_ had been consumed, and only a few crumbs of the _Roquefort_ remained, Matthew pushed back from the table, flashed Mary an enigmatic smile and said, "Shall we retire?"

"I'll wait here until you are ready," Mary said, trying without success to suppress the smile playing at her lips. She gave a glance and nod to Sergeant Barrow, and he stood and followed Matthew to the bedroom.

On impulse, Mary slung a throw from the sofa around her shoulders and walked across to the French window. She unlocked it and stepped out into the cool spring night. Her senses, already sharpened in anticipation of what was to come, delighted in the playful slap of the waves breaking onto the shore and the iodine smell of the sea.

The slight breeze ruffled her hair and sent a shower of refreshing coolness across her burning cheeks. She shut her eyes, wanting to bottle the moment and keep it with her forever. She had never felt so happy, nor so at peace in her life. She hugged herself, and paced contentedly back and forth along the terrace, smiling into the velvety darkness.

"Lady Mary," Sergeant Barrow said quietly from the French door. "He is ready for you."

"Thank you, Sergeant, she said, "and good night."

She opened the bedroom door quietly, her pulse quickening in anticipation.

The scent from the vase of spring flowers on the side table filled her lungs as she walked shyly across to the bed, her heart thumping. Matthew was reclining against the pillows, dressed in a flattering pair of dark blue satin pyjamas. His eyes sparkled in the flickering light from the candelabra, and Mary felt suddenly weak at the knees. "Since you forbade me, my maid, this night," Mary addressed him in a low tone, "you have a job to do!"

"I do indeed," he answered softly, a little disarmed at the tremble in her voice that her flirtatious overtone hadn't quite managed to disguise. He sat up and slid his legs over the edge of the bed. "You need to turn around my darling."

His gentleness reassured her, and Mary kicked off her shoes, turned around and knelt down on the floor in front of him.

The warmth and weight of his hands on her shoulders made her shiver with excitement. Matthew began to carefully unbutton her gown. When he had finished, he paused for a few seconds and then gently smoothed it off her, sighing with pleasure as it fell away and revealed her shapely neck and shoulders. He lifted her corset cover off, and then surveyed the stiff white undergarment, initially unsure what to do.

"Loosen the ties," Mary whispered gently, guessing that was why he had stopped. He began the task, a little disconcerted at just how tightly it was pulled against her body, and at how long it took to undo.

Finally, the garment slid to the floor and he put his hand under her elbow to help her stand and step out of it. She knelt once more, and he gently removed her chemise. "Stand up," he said softly, placing his hand under her elbow again. Mary stood suddenly shy acutely aware she was almost completely naked in front of him.

She turned slowly and hesitantly to face him and then she relaxed and a thrill of pleasure went through her as she saw his delight in her body. Matthew's pulse quickened as he took in her slender figure: her flawless, almost porcelain skin, her rounded breasts and their rosy coloured nipples, and her elegant arms.

"Take off my knickers," she instructed, more confident now.

Lifting her legs carefully one at a time, he unbuttoned her suspenders, and smoothed the silk stockings down and off each dainty foot. And then he gently slid her knickers off, enthralled at the glossy black curls that appeared framed by her shapely legs.

"My God, Mary," he breathed, desire overtaking him, his face suddenly hot, his pyjamas too constricting.

She leant into him, burying his face in her breasts and then she slid down until they were face to face.

"May I have the pleasure of undressing you, now, my darling," she said her voice smooth as honey.

His look of blissful anticipation was answer enough, and she unbuttoned his pyjama shirt and then smoothing her hands up and across his chest, she eased the sleeves down and off his muscular arms. She tossed it onto the bed with a quick movement he found very sexy.

"Lie back," she murmured. He pulled himself back onto the bed and lay back on his elbows, his eyes fixed on hers. Mary hopped onto the bed alongside him, and with more than a little mischief in her dark eyes, she began to unbutton his pants. She was about to slide them off when he felt a wave of panic. What would she think when she saw his naked, damaged body? He reached out to stop her. Mary paused. "What is it?" she whispered, puzzled.

"Nothing," he said quickly suddenly realising how irrational he was being: Mary had nursed him for months, for God's sake! Had seen him at his very worst. Surely nothing could possibly be a shock now? He sighed, a little cross with himself. He motioned for her to continue, and with a reassuring smile, she did. And when he heard her rapturous sigh of pleasure as she took in his fully naked body only minutes later, any lingering doubt he might have held very quickly disappeared.

Relaxed now, he grinned widely at her, and reached up and pulled her onto him and they rolled onto their sides, facing one another. His mouth found hers and he began to kiss her deeply, his tongue darting and exploring. She responded eagerly, working one hand into his silky hair and pressing her soft cheek against his. With her other hand, she began to explore his chest.

Hesitant as first, stopping his kissing to ask _"is this all right?"_ a few times, Matthew's hand worked its way down her smooth body into her dark curls and **there**. She arched her body in delight as he gently explored her, and then slowly worked his fingers inside, relishing her warmth and wetness.

"Mmm," he said his voice husky. Her warm body, soft and strong and tight against him was exquisite. With his other arm, he drew her even closer to him, his skin prickling in delight at the feel of her soft breasts pressing into his chest.

Matthew's gentle caressing and then his fingers finding that special spot, which, after a little bit of guidance from her, he rubbed with just the right amount of speed and pressure sent Mary into ecstasy. She arched against him, writhing against his hand.

Their kisses became deeper and more frantic and Matthew felt the heat in his body building to such an intensity it was almost like he was humming with the sheer joy of her, this breathtaking, vibrant creature who was responding so deliciously to his touching.

When she reached her climax, with a loud shriek of unadulterated pleasure, and then went suddenly, totally limp beside him, he just had to laugh.

"Why are you laughing?" she breathed, a smile playing on her lips, her half-closed eyes flickering at him.

"You," he said giving her a squeeze. "That's the best thank you I've ever heard you give!"

"Mmm," she murmured, lying deliciously relaxed and sweaty alongside him. "You make me feel so good. Might have to do that again soon."

And with that, they basked in the sweetness of their union, uttering the words that lovers use, and savouring the intimacy and the complete and utter perfection of being together at last.

They must have slept a while, for some time later, Mary awoke to the sputtering of a candle which had burned down to its stub. She slipped out of bed and snuffed it out. Returning to bed, she saw Matthew's eyes following hers, his bare chest glowing and sensuous. She felt a frisson, and climbing in beside him, she asked, her voice sultry, "My darling, what may I do for you?"

"Kiss me," he murmured. "All over." Leaning her breasts into his chest, she began to kiss him. First feather-light on his perfect lips her delicate touch so incredibly arousing that he growled with pleasure. And then with such intensity and vigour, that when she finished everything in his mouth was tingling, and his lips felt delightfully hot. Moving down, she kissed the soft skin of his neck and then rained gentle kisses down his body everywhere she knew he could feel, enjoying how he arched his body against her in response.

She paused and began to stroke him, her fingers tracing each well-defined muscle across his shoulders, his heavily scarred chest, and then his abdomen. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she flashed him a playful look and began to kiss his nipples. He shifted a little, and she stopped and looked up at him questioningly. He reassured her with a nod, and ducking her head back down she began to stroke each one with her tongue, gently at first, and then with some force, and the sensation was so unexpectedly intense that he cried out in delight. He pulled her up onto his body then, and responded in kind, taking one breast, and then the other into his mouth and teasing each rosy nipple gently with his teeth.

Once again her body was aching with raw need, and she slid down and began to grind against him. He growled again and began kissing her with a passion that had her gasping with pleasure. They moved against each other in unison, their bodies slick with need and sweat and before long the exquisite sensation of it sent Mary over the edge, and they lay together deliciously sated.

They slept deeply, their bodies tangled, awakening when the sun began to filter through the white lace curtains.

"Husband," Mary whispered, stretching luxuriously. Her skin flushed with warmth as she surveyed Matthew's sleeping form: his arm flung out, his face smooth and relaxed, his long fair eyelashes forming two perfect crescents, and his silky golden hair gloriously mussed. She felt so happy she wanted to burst.

"What time is it?" Matthew asked sleepily, and his eyes fluttered open.

"Time for me to kiss you," she said in a low tone.

"Mmm," he said shutting his eyes again, a smile playing on his lips. He reached over for her. "Come here, wife," he said huskily, and then they were both laughing, delighting once more in the magic of being able to pleasure each other and enjoy each other's bodies, this time in the bright light of day.


	32. Chapter 32

"How was your walk?" Matthew said, placing the copy of _The York Herald_ he was reading on the sofa beside him. Mary had just arrived back from a morning outing with the hotelier's wife.

"Very pleasant," Mary smiled, taking off her coat and hanging it on the hook beside the door. "A bit cold though. It's exposed up at the castle."

"Mrs Young took you all the way up there?" Matthew said, impressed. "You made very good time!"

"She walks rather fast," Mary said, sitting down with a sigh of relief on the stool beside the door to remove her walking shoes. "As it was chilly, I was quite glad! Scarborough Castle really is an impressive ruin. I love its walls, and the views from the site are panoramic. And Mrs Young proved a very good tour guide: she knew a lot more than I could recall of the castle's history."

Mary paused, thinking back to the pleasant times she had explored the castle as a girl during family holidays to Scarborough in the height of summer. The sweet, mint scented grass. Gulls wheeling and screaming overhead. Shouts from the many other children, doing as she and her sisters were: playing hide and seek around its ramparts.

"It's changed a bit from when I was a girl," she continued, looking at Matthew a little solemnly now. "They lost the barracks in the German bombardment," she shook her head. "And the keep was damaged quite badly too."

"That attack was a huge shock, wasn't it?" Matthew said remembering the enlistment campaign it had encouraged. "And Whitby and Hartlepool too." He paused. "The awful truth though, my dear, is that compared to France and the heritage it lost in the war, England got off extremely lightly."

Mary sighed. "I suppose we did. But I still feel a little sad about the castle. Such a very long and fascinating history in those stones, right back to Roman times." Her shoes now removed, she stood up and walked across the room and sat down beside him on the comfortable Chesterfield sofa.

"How was your session with Sergeant Barrow?" she asked, reaching out to smooth an unruly lock of his golden hair back off his face. "Does he drive you as hard as Sybil?"

Matthew chuckled and took her hand between his. "Not quite. But he's pretty enthusiastic all the same, so, I couldn't get away with any slacking. He joined in and did the exercises with me though, which was nice." He paused and said thoughtfully. "You know, I think he likes the idea of getting in shape. After Sybil briefed him on my routine, she added that he might like to join in, and you should have seen his face light up!"

"I am not in the least surprised," Mary said archly. "Vanity and Barrow go hand in hand. I couldn't count the times I've witnessed him admiring himself in the mirror," she giggled. "I'm sure the need to always look good, and wear the livery is a major reason why he likes service!"

"He's not alone in that," Matthew answered mildly. "We had a fair few peacocks at Oxford, similarly fastidious about their looks and their clothes."

"And you are not?" Mary teased.

Matthew blushed. "Maybe. But I'm a lady's, man. Therein lies the difference."

They both looked at each other and laughed. And then they kissed, delighting in being together, just the two of them, as they had every day of their honeymoon so far.

Mary eventually drew back, and she said playfully, "Well, my darling, what would you like to do today?"

Matthew thought for a few minutes, looking at her. "You know, I'd like to visit the Rotunda Museum." He hesitated. "Is that something you could cope with, looking at fossils and rocks? I have always wanted to see the Ammonites."

Mary gave him a mysterious smile, and she tapped her nose. "My dear husband. I can do much better than just cope! You may be surprised to know that when I was a girl I had quite a fascination with them!"

"Tell me more," Matthew said, intrigued by this unexpected revelation.

"My third Governess, a Miss Hall, was a firm believer in women having interests beyond the home," she chuckled. "Such a shame she had only us to tutor, given all Mama and Papa wanted for us was an education sufficient to see us married off as quick as could be!

"Anyway, she had me spellbound with tales of Mary Buckland and Gertrude Bell and their forays into early history and paleontology. She also knew a lot about William Smith, the famous geologist, who of course started the museum here.

"I was so inspired, I started collecting any old pebble, bone or shell I found interesting, and asking Miss Hall incessant questions about each one!

"At some point, Mama found that I had hidden quite a sizeable collection of shells and stones under my bed," Mary said wryly. "She was not happy, of course, and I was very upset when she told me they had to go."

"What did you do?" Matthew said.

"We settled on a compromise: Mama asked Lynch to find me a box, which he promptly did, and I was allowed to keep them in the stables," Mary smiled, remembering how kind Lynch had been in finding her a sturdy wooden box with a hinged lid.

"And dear old Lynch, he even carved my initials in the top," she said fondly, "as a way to reassure me that no one would throw them out!"

"Do you still have it?" Matthew asked.

"To be honest, I'm not sure," Mary frowned. "I guess I could look when we go home! I'm sure the contents will be quite dull and not at all as interesting as what we might view today."

"I'd love to see them, all the same," Matthew said, leaning back on the sofa and smiling at the thought of the young Mary fossicking for natural artifacts.

Mary sat back beside him and leaned her head on his shoulder. "When do you want to go?" she asked.

"Perhaps after our meal," he answered putting his arm around her and drawing her close. "Barrow has reserved us a table for luncheon at the Grand Hotel." He kissed the top of her head and sighed with pleasure.

Mary ran her hand gently down the front of his stylish tweed jacket, admiring the contrast it made with the soft white shirt with its round collar that he was wearing underneath. Her fingers circled the dark brown buttons.

"You are very handsome in your suit," she said softly.

Matthew hummed and nuzzled the top of her head with his chin.

She idly began to undo his jacket, then his waistcoat and finally his shirt until she had uncovered his chest and she ran her hands over his warm skin, enjoying the definition of his muscles and the curls of his hair. "And even more handsome like this," she said, her voice lowering.

"Oh God, Mary," he breathed.

She sat up then, and cupped his face in her hands, and kissed him. A sensuous kiss, her tongue gently exploring every part of his warm, sweet mouth.

She could see the raw need in his eyes, and he kissed her back with such hunger and intensity that both of them were soon breathless. Needing to be closer, Mary carefully straddled him and leaned into his chest, her body starting to tingle and throb with desire. One of Matthew's hands gently traced the outline of her small round breasts through the fabric of her blouse. The other snaked down her slender body and up under her skirt, between her soft thighs and inside of her thin silk knickers.

Despite this new angle, he seemed to know exactly where to find her sweet spot and she almost shrieked with excitement when he began to gently stroke her, enjoying her warmth and wetness and how she responded to his every touch.

Their kissing became more and more intense as they teased each other's lips and tongues. He was stroking her now with a rhythm that was driving her closer and closer to her peak, and when it finally happened he smothered her shrieks by driving his tongue deep into her mouth and pulling her so tightly against him, that the ecstasy of the moment was one of almost unbearable pleasure.

She lay weak and spent in his arms a huge smile on her face. He continued to kiss her, ever so gently across her forehead, her cheeks, and then her hands. Her eyes were full of tears, looking up at him. Her beautiful Matthew. Oh God, her life was good. It was very good indeed.

0-0-0-0-0-0

They could taste salt and feel the damp of the sea in the air as they left the hotel and made their way along the promenade towards the cliff railway to the Grand Hotel. It was a grey afternoon and the sea was relatively calm, its rhythmic slap and hiss a distant echo as the tide was well out. They took their time, appreciating the freedom that the anonymity of being away from home afforded. The passers-by that they nodded and smiled to were an eclectic mix: finely attired visitors like themselves; fisherfolk going to and fro the harbour, and townsfolk going about their daily business.

They boarded the cliff railway and enjoyed the novelty of being carried up the hillside in the small wooden cabin with windows on all its sides. South Bay revealed more and more of itself as they gained altitude: the massive stone ramparts of the castle on its rocky promontory to the north; the cheek to jowl hotels and shops that lined the Promenade; and the injection of gold into the grey day from the sandy expanse that fringed the steel coloured sea beyond.

Their seafood luncheon in the newly rebuilt Grand Hotel restaurant was memorable: the waiter seated them where they were able to enjoy a panoramic view of the bay, and the food was delicious. Mary had crab for her first course, and it proved sweet and succulent. Both of them chose the halibut for the main, and it arrived fragrant and perfectly cooked and accompanied by winter greens that had been glazed lightly with butter. Matthew had ordered a bottle of _Sancerre_ _sauvignon blanc_ to accompany their meal, and by the time they sat back, replete, they were both smiling widely.

"This is so wonderful," Mary said, taking Matthew's hand. "I am enjoying every single moment!"

"So am I," Matthew replied, his voice low. "It's the fine company I'm with of course," he said kissing her hand, "but I can't deny this was a good choice of location for our special week – both the scenery and the wonderful food!

"And now, my darling, let's go and find that museum before we run out of day, shall we?" and Matthew signaled the waiter to bring their bill.

A short distance from the restaurant, they happened upon the plaque to Anne Bronte, erected on the wall of the hotel and they stopped to read it.

"Their lives were cut very short, weren't they," Matthew said. "Anne and Emily both. Such a shame. I wonder what other great books they might have penned had they lived to old age."

"It is a shame," Mary agreed. She paused, and said thoughtfully, "Do you know, it wasn't until after I had read Anne's books that I started to understand what Sybil was on about with her support of the suffragettes," she frowned.

"I really hadn't seen what all the fuss was about. But the way Anne Bronte portrayed the lives of the women in both those books, well that spoke to me. Especially Helen, in _The Tenant of Wildfell Hall_. The bravery the characters showed in the face of less than ideal men," she smiled at Matthew.

"I have only read _Agnes Grey_," Matthew answered. "I have to say I much preferred Charlotte's _Jane Eyre_ as a book."

"It is a very fine book," Mary said. "But more because it is a well crafted and interesting story. Although the character Jane is very strong in herself, and in that way she has quite a lot in common with the characters in Anne's books I suppose."

"But she didn't speak to you in the same way as Anne's characters?" Matthew asked.

Mary shook her head. "Not about the plight of women," she replied. "Completely different stories. And, I suspect it wasn't helped by me being so concerned in _Jane Eyre_, for the plight of Rochester too!" she chuckled.

"It is wonderful how books can affect us so," Matthew said slowly. "I mean, for you, raised as you were with considerable privilege, it could be too easy not to really see how the world continues to be an unfair place for so many women, even now when women like yourself finally do have the vote."

"It is one of the privileges of living in a literate society," Mary remarked. "And that ability for literature to be transformative is a reason why we should never take books for granted in my view. They really are treasures."

Matthew put his hands on his wheels. "Let's get going," he said. "Vernon Road takes us to the Rotunda Museum," he gestured to the intersection a few hundred yards south.

As they crossed the street, he asked, "What about Anne's poetry. Have you read any of it?" Mary shook her head.

"Well, that is something of Anne's that I do like," Matthew said. "When we get back tonight, let's have a look at that book of hers that we have in our suite. She wrote a lovely passage about South Bay I would like to read to you."

0-0-0-0-0-0

On Friday the weather closed in, and they awoke to torrential rain and gale force winds. Matthew arose early to do his exercise session. When some time later he returned to their room in his dressing gown, showered and refreshed, he found Mary still dozing in bed.

"Are you planning on staying there?" he teased softly, rolling up to the side of the bed and reaching to gently tickle her under her chin.

"I think I might," she said sleepily, looking at him through half-closed eyes. "Why don't you come back to bed too?"

"What a good idea," he said his voice a little husky, so whilst Mary visited the bathroom, he rang the bell and when Sergeant Barrow arrived, he got him to lift him onto the bed.

"Will that be all, Sir?" the Sergeant asked politely.

"I think so," Matthew gave a sheepish grin.

"Well, I'll leave you then, Sir." He paused, and then with the slightest hint of mischief in his voice added, "I must say, bed seems a good idea on such a filthy day. Especially when there is someone else to enjoy it with!"

"Get away with you," Matthew chuckled, and grinning widely, Sergeant Barrow left the room.

Sergeant Barrow smiled to himself as he left their suite. He still couldn't quite believe his good fortune in becoming valet to Captain Crawley. He had never had an employer who was so kind or one that he could joke with about such risqué topics. No. Thomas knew he was onto a very good thing, and he was grimly resolute that he would do his damn best to keep it that way.

That didn't mean, of course, that he couldn't indulge in a little private pleasure of his own: the exercise session with his handsome employer had left him in a somewhat frisky mood, and there was a certain dark haired young man visiting for three days from York who was waiting for him patiently upstairs. Bed on such a filthy day was looking like a very good idea indeed.

When Mary returned a few minute later she was delighted to find Matthew on the bed naked, a book of Keats poetry open beside him.

"Ahh," she sighed, her face breaking into a wide smile, and her eyes raking hungrily up and down his body. Her obvious desire for him sent a frisson of excitement through Matthew's body, and he felt suddenly hot.

Mary slipped her gown off and climbed onto the bed beside him, also naked. She lay on her side and smiled at him. "Read me something my darling."

Matthew obliged, and flicked through the pages until he found some sonnets he knew she might enjoy, and he started with those. Later he read her _Ode to a Grecian Urn_, which was one of his favourites.

His melodious voice, perfect articulation and considerable physical beauty created what was for Mary, a delightful assault on all of her senses, and by the time he shut the book and placed it safely on the bedside table, she was wet and throbbing. She began to stroke him, one hand exploring his chest, and then almost without thinking, the other exploring first the dark curls of his crotch, and then his penis and the balls beneath. To her great amazement, she felt him growing hard in her hand. The realisation she had aroused him there was electrifying. Matthew had his eyes half shut and there was a blissful smile on his face.

"Darling," she said gently. "Can you feel that… do you know what I'm doing?"

"Are you touching me," he murmured.

"Aha," she answered.

"I can feel… something and I feel good all over. Keep going," he said breathily, and he reached for her and began to kiss her.

Mary intensified her stroking and moved her body to press tightly against him. He was growing quite hard now and acting on some wild, passion-driven instinct, she wrapped her arms tightly around his hips and rolled him on top of her. He stopped kissing her for a moment, looking at her shocked and then pleased as he felt her moving his body rhythmically against hers. Lifting his hips, she positioned him, and then, almost reckless, she pushed him firmly inside her.

The sensation was so exquisite that she moaned with delight. Aware that he would not be able to thrust, she reached for his balls and began to stroke them, gently at first, and then with some vigour. It seemed to work, for she could feel him become even harder inside of her, and the sensation made her wild with excitement.

"Oh God, Mary" he breathed, and he kissed her even more intensely than before. Mary couldn't hold out any longer. Her climax was so explosive that Matthew put his hand over her mouth to stifle her loud shriek, and then they both began to giggle uncontrollably.

Mary continued to stroke him, but after a few minutes she was aware his erection had begun to fade, and he slipped out of her.

"I need to get off you," he murmured.

They lay side by side, smiling at each other in the daylight, enjoying the heat radiating from the coal fire in the grate that caressed and prickled their bare skin. Eventually, Mary whispered, "Do you know what happened?"

"I think so. But tell me in case," Matthew answered.

"You got hard. And… I got you inside me. And you held it for quite a while," she said.

"What did you feel?" she asked gently.

He sighed. "I could feel enough to know what you were doing," he smiled. "Nice. But not like before. But still nice. It can't not be nice, can it, being with you."

"Did you mind me doing that to you? I mean, now that you told me you couldn't feel it very well I'm wondering if it was wrong of me," Mary felt suddenly uncertain.

Matthew propped himself up on his elbow and turned to look at her, a smile playing at his lips. "I think the question is whether you liked it. Did you?" he asked.

Mary blushed. "Yes," she whispered, and then she blushed even more. "I… well, oh god Matthew, it was wonderful. I love your body. I want to enjoy all of you!" She paused and said worriedly, "but I won't do it again if you don't want me to."

"Oh god Mary, of course, I want you to!" Matthew said, and Mary was horrified to see his eyes suddenly bright with tears. She looked at him and said gently, "Can you tell me?"

"It is hard to explain," he began.

"When… you are like me, well it's hard to think of your body as nice, I mean it doesn't work like it should, and it doesn't look like it should, all these awful scars," he paused.

"So, when you told me you loved my body and you wanted to…" he couldn't finish. He shut his eyes again but it didn't stop another tear from tracking down his cheek.

And then she knew what it was about, and a lump came into her throat. Matthew was so positive, and so very well now, it was too easy to forget that he still held a very real level of grief and uncertainty from his injuries.

"I did mean what I said," Mary whispered, hugging him. "I love all of you. And I want all of you." Matthew hugged her back. He didn't speak, but she felt him relax again. Their conversation brought back something that had been playing on Mary's mind. She lifted her head up and said delicately, "Matthew. When the doctors told you about not having children, was that because you can't do the physical act, or does the paralysis affect something else to make it not possible?" she asked.

"Well," Matthew replied slowly. "I had understood it was the physical act. But if that is the case I can't understand how I could hold an erection like happened just now."

"Could they have been wrong?" Mary asked. "I mean, they have been wrong about quite a lot so far!"

"Maybe," Matthew shrugged. "I don't know enough Mary. It's something else to add to the now rather long list of things to consult Dr. Jones about!" he said wryly.

"Hmm," Mary said, wondering all of a sudden whether if it was possible for him to, what did they call it for men, _come_, well, could babies be possible after all?

"Matthew," she ventured. "In the meantime, would you mind if we… just played.. you know, and see if you can…"

Matthew grinned. "Of course I don't mind. We should see what's possible. My body is yours my darling!" He paused, looking at her wonderingly for a moment. "You know what I am just realising about you?" he said his eyes mischievous. "You are insatiable. I'm right about that, aren't I?" his grin widened. "And I find I like that. I like that very much indeed."

"Of course I'm insatiable," Mary scoffed. "Look at yourself in the mirror sometimes Mr Crawley. Do a bit more of what your valet does. How could I not be insatiable when I am married to you?" and with that, she began to kiss him with a vigour.

When hunger and thirst finally saw them draw a reluctant stop to their antics some hours later, they were both very sweaty and very flushed.

Matthew wasn't sure what was keeping Sergeant Barrow, for the hotel maid arrived to assist Mary a good fifteen minutes before the Sergeant did, and Mary was out of the shower and back in the dressing room before he even turned up.

It wasn't until later, when Matthew joked with the Sergeant, that he put two and two together.

"I take it, on account of your late arrival, that you took the opportunity to go back to bed too," Matthew grinned as the Sergeant helped him dry off after the shower. Thomas jumped, and then he turned bright red, and it was then that Matthew knew.

"I'm terribly sorry, Sir. I won't be late again. I … well…"

Matthew bit down his wild urge to laugh. Was Thomas taking the opportunity to have a honeymoon too? Here in the easy anonymity of a tourist town? He couldn't help but admire his cheek.

"No harm done this time, Sergeant. But don't make a habit of being late, all right?" he chided him gently.

"Of course not, Sir," Thomas said, still visibly flustered.

They said no more about it, instead making small talk about the weather and the worrying news that had been in the paper about the continued spread of the Spanish flu.

With Matthew finally dressed and in his chair, Sergeant Barrow bade him good afternoon and turned to leave. "Just a minute, Sergeant," Matthew said, and Thomas stopped and turned back to him nervously. "Lady Mary and I are having luncheon here, and afterwards Mrs Young is hosting a small concert in her drawing room. A local string quartet I believe. We will be at that event until four o'clock. He smiled at the Sergeant. "I won't call you before then, all right?"

Thomas swallowed and blushed again. "Thank you, Sir. Thank you so much," he said. "But," he frowned at him. "What if you need something?"

"Sergeant," Matthew said gently, "You forget my wife is a nurse. And the hotel has a valet on call for guests. I will be perfectly fine."

Thomas nodded, "Of course," he gave a brief smile. "Well, thank you very much. Very much indeed, Sir," he said fervently, and he turned again to go, overcome, once more, by his employer's kindness and what he was willing not just to overlook, but to make room for.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Saturday dawned fine and still, the storm having blown through overnight. Donning warm clothing, they headed out early, keen to take advantage of the fine day. They walked all the way to Peasholm Park and stopped at the kiosk for a break.

"Robert has asked that we spend some time this week determining where we might want to live," Matthew began as he sipped his tea. "Is that something you would be happy to talk about now?"

"Of course," Mary replied. "Did Papa share any ideas with you?"

"He did, as a matter of fact," Matthew replied. He offered us Grantham House, to which I said no. And then he offered us Eryholme if we would like to take it on." Matthew paused and sighed, "But…"

"It does need a lot of work," Mary agreed, interrupting. "I could see it coming up very nicely with some wisely spent investment though."

"It's not that," Matthew said. "It is the location I'm less keen on." He took a deep breath. "I would like us to be closer to Mother."

"Oh! Of course," Mary said looking at him. She thought for a moment. "She only has you! Unless she wanted to come and live with us?"

"Mother is very happy in the village," Matthew replied. "She and Violet see each other most days, and they can do that being only a few minutes walk from each other's homes. And besides, we wouldn't get Mr Molesley moving up to Durham when he has family in Downton to think about. His father is not so well these days."

"How about we wait?" Mary said suddenly. "Because come May, we are going to have one very big advantage, my darling."

"Oh?" Matthew looked at her quizzically.

"That's when I finish my nursing and Jarvis retires and hands me the land agent role. Once I've got my feet under the table, I'll be hearing every day about what is happening with properties in and around the village. So I will be in a very good position to keep my eye out for something for us!" she finished.

"Of course," Matthew smiled. "I think my ideal would be a home that is close to the village and the Abbey, and something that we can shape to be our very own."

"Something that we can shape," Mary repeated a little dreamily, a frisson of excitement coursing through her at the prospect of making a home with Matthew.

"But what about in the meantime?" she frowned suddenly. Are you really all right with us continuing to live at the Abbey with my mother so unwelcoming?"

Matthew took her hand across the table and clasped it between his.

"Do you know, my dear, I can put up with any amount of Cora's frostiness, as long as you can deal with it. The Abbey is large enough to allow for that. And besides, I'm sure she will come around eventually," he grinned. "So my darling, can you deal with it? Or will your mother drive you mad?"

"If you can put up with the vagaries of my mother, then I will," Mary finished, Matthew's ease and humour about Cora reminding her of Isobel's comments to her some months before.

"It is settled then," Matthew replied. "Let's stay put until we find somewhere we both want to call our own."

0-0-0-0-0-0

It was early the next morning, and Matthew and Sergeant Barrow were swapping weights, half way through the exercise session when the hotelier knocked on the door and advised that there was an urgent telephone call for Lady Mary.

Sergeant Barrow awoke her, and Mary hurried to the telephone in her gown.

When she returned to them a few minutes later, her face was white. "Mary, what is it?" Matthew said, instantly concerned. He pulled himself up onto the sofa and motioned her to sit down beside him.

Mary sat heavily, shaking, and he immediately took her hand. "It is Mama," she whispered. "She has the Spanish flu. And," she gulped, "so has Edith."


	33. Chapter 33

"What is the latest?" Matthew asked as Mary returned for the third time that morning from the telephone in the hotel's foyer.

"Dr Clarkson is adamant we shouldn't try to return," Mary said distractedly. "He said there is a public health announcement for North Yorkshire recommending people stay away from crowds and public areas. He strongly advised I didn't take the train back, and he reiterated again how you must stay put and keep out of harm's way."

That went without saying. The memories of the severe pneumonia that had nearly killed Matthew ten months ago were still raw to the both of them.

"And your mother? Edith?" Matthew asked.

"Mama is delirious and can't recognise people. Edith is feverish but no worse than before. Carson is ill, and three of the maids are down with it too," Mary paused and swallowed. "Dr Clarkson said the next twenty-four hours will determine if Mama will pull through," her voice shook. "Matthew, I feel so useless! I wish I was there!"

Matthew looked at her, his blue eyes full of compassion. "Oh, my darling." He held out his arms and she sat down next to him and rested her head on his shoulder and let him pull her close. They didn't speak. It was all too terrible.

"You could still go if you wish," he whispered eventually. "You could wear a face mask on the train."

There was a knock on the door, and Sergeant Barrow let himself in, his face solemn.

"I hear things are not too good for Lady Grantham," he said. "I'm very sorry Lady Mary." Mary gave a pensive nod in reply.

"I've organised for some more tea," he went on. "It should be here shortly. And I managed to find out how they are managing at the convalescent home," he added.

"Oh?" asked Matthew.

"The isolation measures they put in place, at the convalescent home appear to be working. They haven't had any fall sick as yet, and there are very good plans in place should an influenza case present."

"Oh thank goodness," Matthew exhaled with relief. "I was worried for Evelyn. And Sarah-Jane! I couldn't bear it if something happened to one of them," he swallowed.

Sergeant Barrow nodded sympathetically. Evelyn had been a huge support to Matthew early in his recovery, and the work they had been doing together more recently to assist the wounded soldiers had further cemented their friendship and mutual respect.

"Did Sybil say if Tom was all right?" Matthew asked, kissing the top of Mary's head.

"You mean Branson?" Mary started.

"Yes, sorry, Branson," Matthew said absent-mindedly.

"She did as a matter of fact. He is flat out transporting the various doctors and nurses between the Abbey and the hospital, and he has been keeping himself isolated to others outside of that circle, just in case." Mary paused. "You know, I wasn't sure why Sybil even mentioned him until now – but of course, he and you are friends."

Matthew didn't bother to correct her, but he and Barrow shared a fleeting glance over her head. Yes, he and Tom were friends but it was more than that. Mary was deliberately avoiding facing up to what was now an open secret to quite a number of them including Edith, himself and Barrow; that Mary's younger sister Sybil and Tom Branson were in the throes of something well beyond 'just friends.'

There was a knock on the door, and a hotel maid entered with the tea tray. Sergeant Barrow took it and thanked her. He placed the tray on the mahogany dining table and busied himself pouring cups for Mary and Matthew.

"Sergeant," Matthew said after a taking a long sip of his tea. "Would you mind investigating the train timetable from here to York and then onto Downton? We might as well know whether it's even possible for Lady Mary to get back for Lady Grantham and Lady Edith."

"Of course, Sir," Barrow replied. "And I'll find out about face masks and gloves while I'm at it."

Matthew was secretly relieved when the Sergeant returned a while later with the news that the afternoon and evening train services had been cancelled until further notice: the influenza outbreak was affecting the train staff and they were critically short of engineers.

And then he felt guilty for being relieved when he saw Mary's reaction. She was beside herself. "What if Mama dies?" she said worriedly. "We didn't part on the best of terms Matthew! I couldn't bear it." She stood up and began to pace, brushing tears impatiently off her face.

_She needs to get out_, he thought to himself. _The outdoors will soothe her._ It was too suffocating trying to process what was before them in the confines of their hotel suite.

"Mary," he said gently. "Would you like to get out for a bit? It might help. Out in the fresh air."

She stopped pacing and nodded, and Matthew signalled to Sergeant Barrow to bring his chair and help him get ready.

The sea was boisterous and the breeze with it. They headed north along the promenade, the roar of the waves crashing on the beach a welcome distraction to the worried thoughts filling their minds. Gulls wheeled and cried above their heads, and every now and again they felt spray on their faces.

Mary gulped in deep breaths of the chill sea air. Matthew had been right. It was soothing. When they got back to the warmth and quiet of their hotel suite an hour later, their hair windblown and their cheeks flushed, she was feeling a lot better.

Sergeant Barrow organised for them to have dinner served in their suite, which despite the solemnity of the evening, proved to be yet another memorable meal. Mary couldn't help but smile when she saw the beautifully presented _Moules à la crème Normande_. The heady, full-bodied _Corton-Charlemagne_ chardonnay that Matthew had chosen was a perfect compliment, and he was pleased to see Mary relaxing just a little.

Afterward, she lay on the sofa with her head in Matthew's lap and he read her some passages from E. M. Forster's _Howards End_. It had been her Christmas present to him.

It took both of them a long time to go to sleep, and when they finally did, it was fitful. Mary was instantly awake and stumbling to the door in her gown when she heard the knock at 4:30 in the morning. The night porter ushered her to the telephone.

"Hello," she said expectantly into the receiver.

"Mary. It's over! Mama's fever has broken. She is going to be alright," Sybil's words tumbled out, and Mary could tell her sister was crying with relief.

"Oh thank god! And Edith?"

"Edith is recovering too. She got off much more lightly, all things considered. But… Mary…" Sybil's voice trailed off.

"What is it, Sybil?" Mary said.

"We've lost three of the maids. And one of them was that maid who hasn't been here long. Jane."

She paused for a minute. "It is a little strange. Papa is distraught and seems to be blaming himself. I can't make it out."

"Perhaps everything will make sense when you are all more rested," Mary said soothingly. "And is Carson alright?"

"Carson is going to be fine. He is very weak, but he is definitely on the mend. And he sends his regards. He was most touched when I relayed your message to him," Sybil replied.

They talked a while longer, and then Mary said goodbye and replaced the receiver. She sank down on the stool next to the telephone and sighed, pondering the huge sense of relief she felt for her mother and Edith, mixed with the sadness for the three maids. After a moment she stood up and returned to their suite to give Matthew the news.

0-0-0-0-0-0

The tide was well out, the sea flat calm and the breeze non-existent. The light was dazzling and Mary and Matthew squinted at each other as they reclined side by side in the deck chairs Sergeant Barrow had set out for them on the warm sand.

"When was the last time you sat on a beach?" Mary asked, wishing she had packed a sunhat, so bright and warm was the fine spring morning.

"My last year at University," Matthew replied. "A group of us spent two weeks at Anglesea. Glorious weather. We swam every day! How about you?"

"This beach. The year of my first London season. Probably July," Mary answered. "Just family, although from recollection Evelyn and his sister joined us for a few days."

"Thank heavens Evelyn avoided the 'flu," Matthew said grimly. "How come none of them caught it from Edith?"

"Apparently Edith had been in York all day the day she came down with it. When Branson picked her up from the train station she mentioned to him she felt unwell, and when he handed her out of the car at home, she collapsed," Mary replied.

"And he managed to avoid catching it," Matthew said, thinking of the close confines of the car.

"Yes. Branson, to his credit, has been driving people with his window open for the past few weeks ever since they announced the outbreak! His fresh air precautions seemed to have paid off," Mary said with a wry smile.

"And Sybil, no doubt, would have given him a few more tips on how to avoid contracting it," Matthew said.

Mary looked at him sharply, and Matthew instantly regretted what he had just said.

"Sybil is continuing this friendship with Branson, isn't she?" Mary hunched forward and gazed at him worried.

Matthew said nothing. He looked away.

"Oh, my goodness. I know you refuse to see it as a bad thing, but I am still worried by it all," Mary said.

Matthew continued to say nothing, so Mary sighed and leaned back again. "All right. Your silence wins. I won't talk about this particular topic anymore to you," and she reached over and took his hand.

Matthew squeezed her hand back in response, and he took the opportunity to change the subject.

"I had a call from Alex early this morning while you were out on your walk," he began. "He and Clarissa are going to spend a month holidaying in Kent, and after that they want us to visit and talk about work and where they might buy a property in Yorkshire."

"So Alex has decided he does want to join you at your firm?" Mary said in delight.

Matthew nodded and smiled. "I am so pleased, Mary. It will be nice for us both. And I know he will enjoy working with Charles and Harold."

"It is going to be quite busy, isn't it, when we return home," Mary said thoughtfully. "Edith's wedding; you increasing your work hours, and me needing to start reading up on the estate files so I am ready to take over from Jarvis."

"How is Edith?" Matthew inquired, realising he had not asked after her the past few days.

"Doing very well. She has her appetite back, and she is able to get up for a few hours each day now. Sybil thinks she will be back helping at the home, at least part-time, from next week."

"That is such a relief. And thank goodness Anthony avoided getting ill."

"Yes, that could have been disastrous," Mary answered grimly. "His lungs are really not very strong with the damage from the mustard gas."

Mary sighed and looked across at him.

"While Sergeant Barrow was helping you get ready before, I finally got to talk to Mama."

"Oh? How did that go?" Matthew asked.

"Not too bad, all things considered," Mary said slowly.

"She said she is feeling a lot better finally. And I was able to tell her how worried we had both been and how pleased we were she was recovering." She paused and looked at Matthew, her dark eyes intense. "And she was anxious to know how we were, and she sounded genuinely pleased when I told her we were well and that we were having a lovely time. You know, that's the first time she's actually acknowledged us a couple," Mary shook her head.

"That's progress my darling. And I'm sure she will get easier, towards us I mean," Matthew said encouragingly. "And I know I have said this before. But now, with this scare, it seems important to say it again. You really mustn't let her views about me get in the way. She is your mother after all."

"It's all very well for you to say that," Mary said wryly. "And it is what Isobel says too. But the theory of forgiving and overlooking certain behaviours in one's mother, and then the practice of that, aren't always easy to align!"

There was a shouted greeting from the promenade above them, and they looked up to see that Sergeant Barrow had arrived with a large and obviously heavy picnic basket.

He carried the basket carefully down the steps and across the sand the short distance to where they were. He spread a snowy white tablecloth on the small wicker table he had placed in front of their deck chairs, and he began to unpack the basket.

"Chef has outdone himself, as usual," he grinned. "Keen to see the last day of your honeymoon blessed yet again by delicious food."

"Why am I not surprised?" Matthew smacked his lips. "We have been spoiled this entire two weeks!"

The dishes that Barrow lifted out from the basket, one at a time, did not disappoint. A still-warm _Quiche Lorraine_. A salad of fresh endive and _mâche _leaves. Beans and carrots poached in a little olive oil and sprinkled with herbs. And delectable looking individual pear and custard tarts to follow.

Sergeant Barrow plated their meals, and then he passed two crystal champagne flutes to Matthew to hold whilst he opened the bottle of chilled _Veuve Clicquot_. The cork came out with a satisfying 'pop' and all of them smiled as the pale golden liquid splashed into the glasses.

Matthew passed a glass to Mary, and then turning to Barrow he waved his glass at him and said "Leave us for an hour Sergeant. And tonight, I insist you order a bottle of _Veuve Cliquot_ for yourself to enjoy with your meal. A token of thanks for taking care of us these past two weeks without a break - a little longer than all of us expected since this flu epidemic."

"You are too kind, Sir," the Sergeant said, blushing slightly, and unable to suppress a smile. "And I do hope you enjoy your meal. He bowed his head, "Lady Mary, Sir," and then turned and stood up to return to the hotel.

Mary looked at Matthew closely. "That was rather generous of you. What are you not telling me?" she said raising her eyebrows.

Matthew drew a finger across his lips, and Mary knew instantly.

"I see," she breathed. "His friend is still here because of the outbreak."

Matthew said nothing, but he gave her a brief nod.

Mary chuckled and shook her head. "Well, whilst I find your generosity to your valet a little excessive I must say it does seem to work: I have never seen Sergeant Barrow without a smile this entire trip! And except for that one time he was late, he's been extremely prompt and attentive."

"The Sergeant and I have an understanding," Matthew said quietly. "War does that to you."

"Of course," Mary said humbly. She had a sense that there was something Matthew wasn't saying. But like so much of Matthew's war experience, she would never dream of pressing him. The one thing she had learned from her time with servicemen the past few years was not to ask: it was better simply to listen, as and when they might be ready to share.

Mary was right. There was a story there, and it was one Matthew himself had only recently become aware of in respect of Sergeant Barrow's lover: the information had been given to him in confidence by someone other than Barrow himself.

Apparently, the young man in question was a junior officer named Maurice. Barrow had become friendly with him at the front before he had been invalided out, and the pair had become reacquainted a year later when Maurice had arrived wounded to convalesce at Downton Abbey, there being no room in the officer convalescent homes closer to York at that time. A gas attack on his platoon had killed most of them and left Maurice almost completely blind.

Maurice was luckier than most. His father was a well-known Yorkshire architect with liberal sentiments. Concerned for his son's wellbeing after his discharge, he had purchased him a modest house in a fashionable part of the city and hired a tight-knit staff sympathetic to the young man's persuasion to care for him.

Mary's voice brought Matthew back out of his reverie, and he shook himself and looked across at her.

"Matthew my dear," she said. "It's high time that we ate."

"Toast first," Matthew said softly, admiring his beautiful wife and her chestnut hair shining richly in the sun.

"To you my darling Mary. And to us. To us having a long and happy life together."

"I love you, Matthew Crawley," Mary answered, a smile lighting up her face. "To you, and to us having a wonderful marriage," and after they had both taken a sip of the fine champagne, Mary leaned across and kissed him gently on the lips.

They sat back and gazed at each other for a long moment, before turning their attention back to the delicious luncheon set out before them, savouring the beauty of the food and the beach on the last, glorious day of their honeymoon.


	34. Chapter 34

Tom Branson and Matthew exchanged enthusiastic greetings when Branson arrived in Scarborough promptly at 10:00am to take them home.

"I'm so glad you avoided getting sick," Matthew said fervently. "I was worried. I really was."

"No need to be, Captain," Branson grinned. "I'd been taking precautions for quite a while – and Lady Sybil kept me supplied with masks and carbolic soap," he said, using Sybil's formal title as Mary was standing next to them.

"Branson, come in for a rest and a cup of tea before we depart," Mary urged. "It's a long drive back."

"Thank you, that would be very welcome my Lady," Branson said politely. "Sergeant Barrow, tea first, or shall we load the trunks now?"

"Tea first I'd suggest Mr Branson," answered the Sergeant. "I'll ask the porter to keep an eye on the luggage until we are ready."

The four of them went back inside, and Branson filled them in on more of the detail of what had happened during the influenza outbreak whilst they enjoyed hot tea and slices of moist lemon cake.

"It's been very tough for downstairs with the loss of the maids," Branson said solemnly. "Quiet in the servant's hall," he shook his head. "And Mr Carson is still lying low. He had quite a bad case of it in the end. Mrs Hughes thinks it will be the end of the week before he is up and about."

"I'm not surprised," Sergeant Barrow remarked. "Mr Carson has been carrying quite a load the last few years with the war affecting the staff levels, and the convalescent home operating."

"Perhaps it's time he was allowed to take things a little easier," Matthew said.

"He won't of course," Mary commented.

The other three looked at her.

"Carson has extremely high standards," Mary explained. "He doesn't like to let the side down, even if he is short of staff and the workload doubled, like it's been with the home operating. I can't see him ever relaxing even when he's told." She smiled. "I was there when Papa tried to suggest maids could serve in the dining room. You should have seen his face!" They all chuckled at that.

Branson cleared his throat. "Something else has happened," he paused and looked at Mary, a slightly worried expression coming over his face. "Miss O'Brien left yesterday afternoon."

"What?" said Mary and Sergeant Barrow, together.

"I've no idea what's led to it," Branson shook his head. "None at all! And those who might know aren't letting on. And Lady Mary, I must warn you, your mother is not the best."

"Oh dear," Mary's face creased into a frown. "What on earth took place? Mama was telling me just yesterday morning how devoted O'Brien had been to her when she was ill!"

"I couldn't tell you, my Lady," Branson said again. "But Lady Edith and Lady Sybil both wanted me to let you know before you got home." They all fell silent, looking at each other. Sergeant Barrow had a strange expression on his face. Mary frowned at him and he looked down at his teacup. _He knows something,_ she thought. _But now is not the time to press him. Not with Branson present._ She sighed and focused back on her tea, wondering what possibly could have occurred to see O'Brien leave so suddenly.

When the waiter came to clear away the empty teacups a little while later, Matthew broke the silence. Nodding to Branson and Sergeant Barrow, he said "Chaps, it is time we got on the road." He pushed back from the table and spun his chair around. "I'll go and settle the bill. I'll meet you at the car shortly." The others stood then and followed him out of the hotel dining room.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Mary could feel it as soon as she stepped through the front door. There was an atmosphere. Her parents were not there: Alfred informed her with a grim expression that Lady Grantham was resting, and that Lord Grantham had been called away to London to deal with an urgent investment matter.

Sybil and Edith hugged them as though they had been away for months, not weeks, and both of them had tears in their eyes.

"What is it?" Mary whispered. Edith, pale from her recent illness, looked pained. "We'll come to your sitting room. When you have freshened up of course."

Mary and Matthew looked at each other, mystified, as they made their way to their suite. Anna and Barrow following.

After Mary had changed out of her travel clothes, and Anna had begun the task of unpacking her trunk, she knocked on the bedroom door to talk to Matthew, not sure if Barrow was still with him or not.

"Come in," she heard him say, and she opened the door.

Matthew was still in his travelling clothes and unpacking his books and returning them to the shelf near the fireplace. "Will you join us?" she asked, walking across to him.

He looked up and shook his head. "I need to lie down after that car trip. Not having a break on the way was a bit much. And anyway," he added, "I get the feeling this might be a conversation best held between you girls," he gave her a wry smile.

Mary nodded. "I have a feeling you may be right," she sighed. "I'm sorry my darling. I hadn't expected us to come home to this!"

"I'm not sure why **you** are apologising," he said grinning at her. "And if the conversation gets too much, just remember that perfectly marvellous time we had on the beach yesterday." He grasped her hands and pulled her to him, and they kissed each other, smiling.

When Barrow arrived back to assist Matthew, Mary took her leave and went through to their private sitting room to wait for her sisters. Anna had just brought her through a sandwich and a glass of water when Sybil and Edith knocked and entered.

"Where is Matthew?" Edith asked, looking around as she took a seat on the sofa opposite Mary.

"He's lying down. He won't be joining us," Mary replied. She looked expectantly at her sisters. "My dears. What on earth is going on?"

Edith and Sybil looked at each other, both not quite sure where to start, and then both of them started talking at once, and Mary put her hand up. "Girls! Let's go one at a time," she smiled.

"You say it," Sybil looked at Edith, and then Sybil's face crumpled and she gave an involuntary sob. The smile vanished instantly from Mary's face.

"Remember when Mama lost the baby," Edith said tremulously. "Remember how she slipped?"

Mary nodded, suddenly dreading what was coming next.

"Well… it turns out that O'Brien deliberately left the soap on the floor," Edith said her voice low. "When Mama got sick, she couldn't live with herself. So she confessed to Mama…"

"And Mama didn't take it very well at all," Sybil interrupted, sniffing. "As far as she is concerned, O'Brien… killed her baby!" she forced herself to say, and tears spilled down her cheeks.

Mary looked from Sybil to Edith and back again. A wave of nausea hit her as she struggled to process what she had just heard. Finally she whispered, "Why?"

Edith shook her head. "No one can say. It's inexplicable. And not knowing is making it far worse for Mama to deal with!" and her bottom lip quivered.

There was a long silence. Eventually Mary asked, "Who else knows of this confession?"

"Only Papa. He was the one who sent her packing," Edith said grimly. "Shouting at her about how she had killed his heir."

"But he's not made things easy for Mama either!" Sybil burst out. Edith flashed her a warning look.

"Sybil, we don't know what happened yet. We can't blame Papa until we are sure."

"What? Is there something else? What are you talking about?" Mary asked sharply, a knot of fear forming in her stomach.

Edith wrung her hands and shrugged. She looked at Sybil, as if to say 'you tell it.'

"You know the maid Jane? Who died?" Sybil began. Mary nodded. "Well, oh Mary, I don't know how to say this, well…"

"Sybil overheard Papa crying when he heard the news," Edith interrupted. "He was talking to Bates and saying over and over that Jane dying was his fault," Edith paused and took a breath. "Sybil was worried and she came to talk to me and…"

"Mama overheard us and got terribly upset!" Sybil said, her eyes dark.

"And since then they haven't talked. And then Papa left! And we don't know where he is! He's not at Grantham House. It's been awful Mary!"

Mary realised she was shaking. She took a deep breath and tried to calm herself. Something was bothering her, a memory of a conversation. And then it came to her and she gave an involuntary gasp. _"You're not the only Crawley to have made a mistake,"_ Papa had said.

"Girls," she said abruptly. "When did Jane start working here?"

"She arrived the same afternoon that Matthew arrived here from hospital," Edith said immediately.

"How can you be so sure?" Mary said, surprised.

"Because it was such a difficult day. We had three patients with medical emergencies. You two got called away, and then Matthew had that terrible flashback and Sergeant Barrow was shouting for help," Edith shook her head at the recollection. "And in the midst of it all was this pretty new maid, standing in the Great Hall asking for Lord Grantham." She sighed. "I won't forget that day in a hurry." Edith stopped and frowned at her sister. Mary had gone pale.

"What do you know?" she whispered.

Mary shook her head. "I'm not sure," she said tightly, not yet wanting to divulge the upsetting conclusion that was rapidly forming in her mind. _"Your mother and I are having a few problems,"_ Papa had said. Mary felt a wave of revulsion come over her. Was Jane her father's "mistake?"

She stood up and said suddenly, "I must see Mama. Excuse me," and she walked out, leaving Edith and Sybil looking at each other in surprise.

0-0-0-0-0-0

"Mama?" Mary knocked gently on her mother's door. There was no answer, so she opened the door a crack to see if her mother was asleep. She wasn't. Cora was lying on the bed, her shoes kicked off. She turned and said softly, "Is that you Mary?"

"Yes, it's me," said Mary, entering quickly and shutting the door behind her. Her heart lurched when she saw her mother's appearance. Her normally pretty eyes were red and puffy from crying, and she looked frail: the influenza had left her thin and shaky. _And the two people she trusted most in the world have gone and let her down!_ Mary thought angrily.

"Oh, Mama!" Mary sank down on the bed beside her and took her hands. "Mama, I don't know what to say," she whispered, her voice anguished. "I'm so, so, sorry!" She swallowed the lump in her throat. "Your baby… Mama." and a tear tracked down her cheek.

"I am so glad you are back, Mary!" Cora squeezed Mary's hands tight, and she gave her daughter a tremulous smile. "It hasn't been an easy time my dear, while you have been away," she said. "You look so very happy. And I am so very pleased! And you should be coming back to find us happy too, and not like this!" she gave a sob and began to cry.

Mary sat with her, silently holding her mother's hand until her crying ceased. "I'll fetch you a flannel," Mary said softly, and she stood up and went out to the bathroom, returning with a cold flannel and some clean handkerchiefs. She poured them both glasses of water, and then she helped her mother sit up, and rearranged the pillows so she was comfortable.

"Better?" she said.

"Thank you my dear," Cora said, her voice rough. "I don't know what I would have done without your sisters this past little while." There were tears in her eyes again. "I feel like my life has been turned upside down." her hand shook as she dabbed her eyes with the handkerchief. "O'Brien, and…" she gave Mary such an anguished look that Mary felt her stomach clench.

"I think I know Mama," she whispered. "Something… Papa said."

Cora put her hand to her mouth, still shaking. "Does Sybil or Edith know?" she said, worried.

"They know something has happened with Papa that involves Jane. No more than that," Mary answered gently. Her mother looked anxious. "Please don't say any more to them," she said. "At some point, they will need an explanation. But not right now and," she looked at Mary, the anguish back on her face, "I don't know what to do Mary… or what to think!" She blinked back tears and Mary could see her mother was angry, as well as sad.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked.

Cora shook her head. "No. No, I don't think so," and once again tears began to run down her cheeks.

Mary took her mother's hand again and stroked it. Eventually, she said, "Mama, there will be a way to get through this. I don't know what it is, but there will be."

Cora shook her head. "I can't see that now Mary," her voice shook. "But I do hope you are right."

0-0-0-0-0-0

Edith, Sybil and Mary kept a vigilant eye on their mother over the next few days, making sure one of them was always with her, bringing her treats and finding her books, and when she was up to it, accompanying her for short walks around the garden. Anna took over as her lady's maid and treated her as kindly and gently as she could.

In respect of her mother's wishes, Mary didn't divulge the little extra information she knew to her sisters: and in any case, she found herself puzzling over the details. How long had her mother known? If she had known way back, had Papa lied to her and said he had stopped but then continued? Why was he blaming himself for Jane's death? And what had made O'Brien confess to her unforgivable deed so long after it had happened, when she knew she had so much to lose? Was it really because she thought Lady Grantham was going to die? None of it seemed to make any sense.

She did tell Matthew however: and he was as shocked as she was, particularly about Robert.

"I never liked O'Brien," he said grimly. "Never, ever. So that bit of nastiness, despicable, and let's face it, pretty much criminal, I can sort of understand.

"But Robert? How could he dare to betray Cora? And why?" he said shaking his head in disbelief. "I always thought he was more than that," he frowned. "It's almost like we're talking about a different man to the cousin Robert I thought I knew," and Matthew looked very pained indeed.

Two days later, Mrs Hughes brought a letter to Mary' attention which confounded things even further.

"Lady Mary," Mrs Hughes said, her mouth set in a thin line. "I'm terribly sorry, but this letter to Lord Grantham has been opened by mistake. It was left in Mr Carson's tray and I have been dealing with his correspondence whilst he's been ill," she paused, "I really didn't mean to, the address panel was facing away from me when I slit the envelope." It was then that Mary noticed that Mrs Hughes's hands were shaking slightly. She looked at her closely. "Go on," she said.

"It's only me that saw the contents," Mrs Hughes said her voice low, "And it goes no further," she said firmly, and she looked Mary directly in the eye.

"Of course, Mrs Hughes," Mary said formally. "Your discretion is something we have always been able to rely on. I will make sure it gets to Lord Grantham. Thank you," and turning, she walked rapidly back to their suite. Normally she would never have dreamed of reading her father's letters. But there was something in that look Mrs Hughes had given her… something almost desperate. Seated alone at the bureau in their peaceful sitting room, she unfolded the paper and began to read.

It was a cyclostyled copy of a receipt for £150, addressed to her father. It had been issued by a _Dr G Thompson of 100 Thames St, Hackney, London_, and made in respect of a payment of February 27, 1919, for a _Miss J Levinson: Medical Services for Restoration of the Menses._

Mary inhaled sharply. She put the letter down, frowning, and then she picked it up and looked at it again, more closely. Yes, it was definitely a copy. She picked up the envelope and looked at that too. The address was typed: Nothing untoward there, but it was the postmark that stunned her. Whoever had posted this copy had done so from the village.

Something about the weight of the envelope made her wonder if there was something else. She felt inside it, and there was, a smaller, more tightly folded paper. She removed it, and smoothed it out. And then she gave an audible gasp of shock. She sat, stunned for a moment, trying to think what to do. And then she made a decision. With trembling hands, she hid both the items in the desk drawer beneath a stack of other papers. She stood and went quickly to the small library, removed the key to her father's desk from the box on the shelf in which she had long known he kept it hidden and opened it.

It only took a few minutes to find the original of the receipt, which to her relief, was still in its envelope. She looked at the envelope closely, and two things struck her: It did name the sender in tiny print in the top left-hand corner: _Dr G Thompson, 100 Thames St, Hackney, London_; and when she turned it over, the manner in which the edges of the flap were slightly curling confirmed her suspicions: someone had steamed it open, most likely before it had even got to her father. _Let's hope I am right and whomever has done this does not know where Papa keeps his key_ Mary thought grimly. She put the letter back, locked the desk and returned the key to its hiding place. And then she went to look for Mrs Hughes.

It was almost six o'clock when Mary finally left the housekeeper. Together they had been through Jane's locker downstairs, the pockets on her uniform, and the attic room she had stayed in during the week, whilst her son was away at school. Their thorough hunt had borne fruit: Mary now held in her possession a series of letters and notes they had found under the mattress. As she hurried upstairs, she prayed that Matthew was home.

To her enormous relief, he was. When she burst into their sitting room, Matthew was reclining on the sofa by the fireplace looking tired but relaxed after his first day back at work, and Sergeant Barrow was just handing him a glass of cognac.

His smile on seeing Mary come in quickly evaporated as he saw the worried look on her face.

"Mary?" he said, "What is it?" He straightened up and placed his glass on the small mahogany wine table in front of him.

"Matthew. Thank heavens you are home," Mary said, unable to keep the tremble out of her voice. She walked quickly across the room and sank down next to him on the sofa, clutching a large brown paper envelope.

"Something to drink Mary?" Matthew said a little rattled by his wife's composure. "And then talk?"

She nodded, and Sergeant Barrow said immediately, "What may I get you, Lady Mary?"

"Please. Whatever it is that Matthew has," Mary said distractedly.

"Cognac, my Lady," he said, and he moved to the sideboard and poured her a glass. He passed it to her. "Thank you, Barrow," Mary said, and she immediately took a large gulp. Sergeant Barrow raised his eyes at Matthew and nodding to them both he turned and left the room, shutting the door firmly behind him.

"Mary? What on earth…?" Matthew began. "You don't normally ask for liquor!"

"Look at these, Matthew," Mary interrupted, her voice shaking. She reached into the envelope and pulled out the sheaf of papers. Moving over a little, she spread the items out on the sofa between them. She stood and went across to the bureau, returning with the items she had left in the drawer earlier. She laid them down on the sofa with the other items.

"This one here," she whispered, pointing at the cyclostyled receipt. "You are a Doctor's son. Is that… is that for what I think it is for?"

Matthew picked it up and read it. He bit his lip and nodded. "Good god," he breathed.

"It's a copy," Mary said tonelessly. "And look at the postmark on the envelope it came in," and she passed it to him. "And the original is in Papa's desk. It appears someone steamed open the letter before it got to him.

"And then, these." She pointed to some of the amorous letters and notes to Jane professing to be from Lord Grantham. "It looks like Papa's signature. But Papa doesn't type!" she shook her head. "I can't make head or tail of it."

"But what about that photo," Matthew said grimly. "Whilst that copy is blurry, the man in the picture with Jane outside that hotel is definitely your father!"

"Where are these from?" he frowned.

"The copy of the receipt and the copy of the photo were in that letter addressed to Papa, which I was given by Mrs Hughes. The rest is from under Jane's mattress." Mary replied. They stared at each other.

"Where is Robert?" Matthew asked suddenly.

"No one knows," Mary shrugged her shoulders. "He's not staying at Grantham House."

"We need to find out," Matthew said. "We need to talk to him." He paused frowning, his eyes dark. "Mary, I've got a really horrible feeling about all this.

"It seems Robert was up to something with Jane. But these odd things… I have a sense that someone has found out," he took a deep breath, "Someone who may be wanting to humiliate him… or worse to try and blackmail him."

Matthew didn't voice what was his deepest fear: that what was going on here was something that had Sir Richard Carlisle's fingerprints all over it.

_"I'll have you know, Crawley, that this isn't over. This won't be the last from me, not for you, you pack of bastards, or for the bitch!"_ Matthew shuddered at the recollection.

_No. Don't talk about it. Not yet,_ he thought. _Eliminate any other possibilities first._ One thing he definitely didn't want to do, was to upset Mary unnecessarily.

Mary stood up suddenly and walked across to the window. She gazed out into the twilight and took another gulp of her cognac.

"I am shocked, Matthew," she said, almost inaudibly. "That Jane would do this! She seemed to be one of the nicer maids. And very good at her job! Surely she wouldn't be behind this, unless jealousy got the better of her?" Mary's voice was puzzled.

"I don't think we should leap to any conclusions yet Mary," Matthew said quietly. "I would be very surprised if it was Jane: I mean, what would she have stood to gain from secretly manipulating Robert in a situation where both of them were complicit? Very little I suspect, and all the while the huge risk of losing her job if he ever found out!"

Mary turned back to face him. "You are probably right," she said frowning. "But if it wasn't her, who was it? And why?"

She walked back to the sofa and sat for a moment looking at him, and then she stood and began to pace again, wringing her hands.

Matthew watched her silently, his brow furrowed. _How does life do this?_ He wondered. A short period of blissful happiness, everything and everyone happy, and then in remarkably quick succession: illness, death, betrayal, and something more than a little sinister. And this, 'something,' because of who was affected by it, left them no choice but to find out the truth, and find it out fast.

Mary returned once more to the sofa and resumed her seat. And this time the look on her face was determined. "Matthew," she said firmly. "We need to make a plan."

"We do," Matthew replied. "Would you mind fetching me my notebook from my study desk, please. We might as well use the time we've got now before dinner and make a start."

0-0-0-0-0-0

Neither of them slept well, both of them relieved when it was finally the morning. Mary arose at the same time as Matthew and took Diamond out whilst he joined the other officers for his physical therapy session. The ride did her good: she was feeling a little more positive when she returned.

Immediately after their breakfast, they went over what each other were to do. Matthew then left with Branson to go to work, and Mary went to sit with her mother, in the hope she might this time be able to encourage her to talk.

When he reached the office, Matthew quickly checked his messages and appointments, and satisfied there was nothing requiring his immediate attention, he went to find Charles. He knocked on his office door and waited.

"Come in," Charles said. He looked up as Matthew entered. "Matthew my boy," Charles smiled. "How are you this fine spring morning?"

"A little troubled, if you must know," Matthew answered. "Do you have a minute now for us to talk?"

"Yes, I do," answered Charles. "My first client appointment is not for an hour. He looked at Matthew, frowning a little on hearing the tone in the younger man's voice. "What is it?"

Matthew rolled his chair across to Charles's desk. He rubbed his face with his hands and said, "Lord Grantham appears to be in some sort of trouble." He paused, reluctant at having to voice what he knew he must say next. "It appears he may have been involved in some sort of… liaison with a maid in his employ," Matthew swallowed.

"Whilst one might question why such a liaison, in the normal course of things, need pose a concern, beyond, of course, the moral sensibilities of those affected, it appears that in this case, someone else may have found out."

He lifted his head and looked at Charles, his eyes dark. "And I have a hunch that this someone has already, or perhaps intends shortly to use this information to harm Lord Grantham in some manner."

Charles's frown deepened. "Go on," he said.

Matthew picked up the envelope he had on his lap and removed the contents. He spread the items out on Charles's desk.

"This is what we have," he said quietly.

"Hmm,, " said Charles, after he had examined each of the papers. "And what does Lord Grantham have to say for himself over all of this?"

"Cousin Robert is away. And none of us know where he is staying," Matthew replied heavily.

"Well, what about the maid at the centre of all of this? What does she say?" asked Charles.

Matthew's face paled. "She… she died a little over a week ago of the 'flu."

Charles's head snapped up. "She has died?" he said shocked. Matthew nodded.

Charles was silent for a moment, frowning. "And you don't think this death, unfortunate as it is, might somehow resolve this situation for Lord Grantham?"

"Not if behind all of this, a bigger game is being played," Matthew answered grimly. "I know that on face value what we have here is not much. What is of concern is that the items, when considered together, suggest someone has been watching Robert. And furthermore, if indeed the typed notes you see here are not the work of Robert himself, that the person concerned has also attempted to deliberately aid and abet the continuation of this liaison."

Matthew paused, and drummed his fingers on the armrest of his chair. "Charles, the reason I am telling you all this is because I am worried that Sir Richard Carlisle may be behind this. I might be wrong, actually I hope that I am wrong, but I would like us to investigate and satisfy ourselves either way."

Charles nodded slowly. "Very well. As it happens, I've had work on a client's case delayed. I've got a free day later this week. I'll use that to go down to London and call on our contacts there, and see what we can find out." He opened his desk drawer and took out his leather folio and his pen.

"Matthew," he said with a serious tone. "Everything you know and everything you suspect. From the beginning," and with that, Matthew began to talk.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Mary knocked on her mother's bedroom door. "Mama," she called softly. "Are you awake?"

"Come in, Mary," her mother replied. Mary entered and found Cora propped up on pillows, having breakfast in bed.

"I see your appetite is coming back," Mary said, pleased.

"A little," Cora smiled. "Anna is very persuasive! She has had Mrs Patmore making my eggs exactly as I like them. And then she stands over me until she's seen me take a few mouthfuls."

"And I am very glad to hear that she does!" Mary said. "You need to get your strength back after that nasty 'flu."

She pulled a chair up beside the bed and sat down. "Mama," she said. "I was hoping you might be up to telling me what happened with Papa," she said gently.

Cora froze, and put down the piece of toast she had in her hand. "Why do you need to know, Mary?" she said. "Isn't it enough to know that your father continued to be unfaithful to me? That alone is not something a daughter should ever have to know." Cora frowned at her daughter.

Mary looked at her mother impassively for a moment._ She's just given away the critical piece of information that I needed,_ she thought to herself. _I don't need to press her. And perhaps I don't need to reveal what I know just yet either._

"Of course, Mama," she agreed. "It is just that I know from my work with the soldiers that talking about something can sometimes make it easier to bear."

"Always the nurse," Cora smiled at her daughter. "And I do appreciate you asking." She paused and said, "How about instead you tell me some more about your honeymoon. That just might help cheer me up."

If the situation her mother was facing hadn't been quite so dire, Mary might have allowed herself to indulge in a little private _"I told you so,"_ on hearing her mother's sudden interest in their honeymoon: instead she found herself genuinely glad to regale her with some colourful descriptions of the places they had visited, the fine food they had enjoyed, and the special time they had had as a couple getting to know each other.

0-0-0-0-0-0

It was late morning before Mary was able to look for Anna. She found her in the dressing room of their suite, putting away some freshly laundered clothes.

"Anna," she said cautiously. "Have you heard from Bates?"

Anna glanced back at her uncertainly and nodded. "Yes, m'Lady," she said her voice almost inaudible.

"Do you know where he is?" Mary pressed. Anna shook her head. I don't m'Lady. You know the valet's code. It's like what a lady's maid must have."

"Of course," Mary agreed. "It's just that Captain Crawley and I have found some things out this past day that we believe Lord Grantham needs to know," she paused, wondering how to put it. "It might allow… what has gone on to be sorted out," she finished, and looked at Anna.

"Is there anything, anything at all in what Bates has said that might provide a clue?" she asked.

Anna paused for a minute and then gave a slow nod. "There might just be something. You won't say it came from me though will you?"

"Of course not," Mary said firmly.

"Well, I know he was calling from London because of what the operator said, Anna said slowly. "And he did leave me waiting on the line a minute during our chat while he had to talk to someone else… and while he was doing that I did overhear him mention a club. I can't recall the name, but when he said it, I remember it reminding me of a place I had heard Lieutenant Napier mention in the past."

"Thank you, Anna," Mary said. "That information may just help us very much," and she hurried to the telephone in the hall to call Matthew.

0-0-0-0-0-0

When they swapped notes before the dressing gong that evening, both of them felt a little discouraged: the day had revealed only a little more information to what they already knew.

"Boodle's told me they had no Lord Grantham staying," Matthew said, explaining to Mary what had happened when he had followed up Anna's tip and tried Viscount Branksome's club. "I also tried Robert's club, which is White's isn't it, and they said he wasn't there, either."

"Yes, it is White's," Mary answered. "Hmm. And all I gained from Mama, was that she believes Papa continued to be unfaithful to her." She walked to the window, wringing her hands and looked out into the twilight.

"I suppose," she said tightly, "that it at least confirms for us that Jane was most likely the "mistake" Papa alluded to when he talked to me all those months ago."

Matthew was silent for a moment. He didn't want to reveal to Mary his conversation with Charles. He was pleased when Mary turned back to him and changed the subject.

"And then this awful business with O'Brien. I wonder where she has gone?" Mary paused for a minute. "Far away if she knows what is good for her," she said answering her own question.

She walked back to the sofa and sat down next to Matthew. "My darling, has Barrow ever mentioned anything about O'Brien?"

"Not anything remotely related to this, nor concerning Cora," Matthew replied. "Why do you ask?"

"The other day when we first found out she had gone, I got the sense he might know something."

Matthew nodded slowly. "I guess he might. They used to be friends, back before the war." He leaned back and sighed. "Let's talk about something more cheerful, my dear." He smiled at her expectantly. "Tell me how it was back at the hospital office."

Mary smiled, and she leaned back next to him and took his hand. She began to relate the details of her busy, but satisfying afternoon catching up with the other staff and making a start on the myriad of administrative tasks that had piled up in her planned, and her mother's unexpected, absence from the hospital office.

0-0-0-0-0-0

"Things downstairs any easier yet?" Sybil leaned against the doorway to the garage, watching Tom finish polishing her father's car.

"Not really. Everyone is still very sad. And they know something is up with Lord Grantham and that's making it all worse. Bates hasn't been in touch of course. Valet's code. And Mrs Hughes hasn't smiled for days."

"A bit like upstairs," Sybil said grimly. Edith and I are in the dark about Papa, and Mama and Mary aren't saying anything!"

She paused, and asked gently, "How well known were the maids?"

"Well, Jane, of course, she was lovely. Very hard to take her dying. Especially leaving a young son and no father in the picture! And Vera. She too. A bit bumbly, but always meant well. Can't say anyone was sad about Edna though," Tom said grimly. "Nasty piece of work that one."

"You shouldn't speak ill of the dead!" Sybil was shocked.

Tom gave her a hard stare. "If you knew what she tried to make me do," he shook his head and focused back on his polishing. "Good riddance. That's all I'll say," he finished grimly.

Sybil looked at him questioningly, but Tom shook his head and set his jaw. Whatever Edna had done was not something he was prepared to divulge.

A bell sounded faintly in the distance. Sybil sighed. "There's the gong. I do hope things get easier for you all. You know, I wonder if there's something we might be able to do for Jane's child. I might talk to Edith and Mary about that," she mused.

"That could be a nice gesture," Tom said approvingly. "As I understand it, he's with his Grandmother in Ripon."

Sybil nodded at him. "I'd better be off. See you tomorrow!" She flashed him her brilliant, disarming smile, the one that always made him melt.

"See you then too, my girl," he grinned, his blue eyes sparkling. He gave her a wink, watching whilst she skipped away into the darkness.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Mary's first nursing shift back at the convalescent home the next day proved unexpectedly busy. On the list of patients, the Sister handed her were four new arrivals: men who had been seriously wounded at the very end of the war, and who had only recently been discharged from hospital to convalesce.

Each patient took a lot of time to bathe and dress: and two of them required feeding. Mary was shocked how long it had taken when she looked at her pocket watch.

_This pace feels like the hospital,_ she mused, feeling a little disconcerted. She quickly checked her file and frowned slightly when she saw Evelyn's name. _I wonder why he is on the medical list?_ She thought to herself. As she began her checks on the remaining patients, she decided to leave Evelyn until last, reasoning that she would enjoy staying and talking with him even if she were over time.

"Mary, you have been missed!" Evelyn said when she finally made it to his bedside. "Marriage suits you," he said looking at her appreciatively. "You are positively glowing!"

"I've missed you too!" Mary smiled at him. "And yes, we have had the most wonderful time. It was truly delightful, and I am very happy indeed being married!

"And how are you, my dear? I see you have not been well," she said, concerned at his pallor. She picked up his chart and sat down on the chair beside his bed.

"Not that great, to be honest," Evelyn sighed. "Another damn infection," he shut his eyes and Mary was alarmed to see he was close to tears.

"Oh, Evelyn," she said taking his hand and giving it a squeeze. She quickly read through his notes. It wasn't pretty reading. His prosthesis had given him trouble and it had irritated his stump. An infection had taken hold that was now proving stubborn to treat: the notes showed that it had been getting steadily worse for the past week and all that time he had been on enforced bed rest.

"You're not having an easy time of this are you," Mary said sympathetically when she finished reading. Evelyn shook his head. "I am damn well over this Mary. I really am," he said his voice shaking.

"Of course you are," she said gently. "There's been an unfortunate pattern of this these past months." She paused and said delicately, "I do need to check and re-dress your wound. "How are the pain levels? I could organise you a draught before I begin if you would like."

"Please," he said heavily. She went quickly to the dressing station and prepared him a measure of the painkiller, returning to his bedside with the draught and the supplies she needed. Once she had made Evelyn comfortable against the pillows, she set to work to check, clean, paint and redress the wound. _At least it doesn't seem any worse than the notes describe it from last time,_ she thought to herself.

Once the most painful part was over, they began to talk. Evelyn asked her about their honeymoon, and she asked after Sarah-Jane and how things had been during the influenza outbreak. As she had suspected, it had been a difficult time for both the patients and the nurses. And it had been particularly worrisome for Evelyn, as through most of it, he had been laid up, very unwell, and the medical staff had been thin on the ground.

Her task finished, Mary went to wash her hands, returning a few minutes later with cups of tea for them both. She completed his chart and with what she hoped was a reassuring smile, she said, "There is good news, Evelyn. Your wound appears to be no worse than at the last check, and best of all your temperature has dropped slightly. With a bit of luck, you might be turning the corner."

"Really, Mary?" Evelyn said unsmilingly. "The last few times I've got to this point it's ended up going bad again." He looked at her, his eyes full of despair. "You know, sometimes I think I'm never going to get out of here. Not alive, anyway," and he turned his face away and looked at the wall.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Matthew was tired when he arrived home: some urgent case work had come in for one of Harvell and Carter's major clients, and he had offered to Charles to take it on, not, under any circumstance wanting to see Charles's planned visit to London the next day being compromised. The day had passed in a blur of phone calls and poring through several lengthy statutes to pull together some initial advice, which he had managed to get away to the client by messenger just after 5:30pm.

He poured himself a Cognac from the sideboard and stared glumly into the fire, wondering where Mary was. He felt sore and a little irritated, and gloomy as he knew there would be several more intensely busy days to get through what was required.

"Are you in pain, Sir?" Sergeant Barrow asked him with a frown when he arrived a few minutes later when the dressing gong sounded.

Matthew sighed. "Is it that obvious? Yes, I am. It's been a tough day at the office."

"We'll need to give you a rub down, and then you must do some stretching," Sergeant Barrow said firmly. "Right away. And how about a glass of water before the Cognac," he added, and he set about immediately pouring him one.

Matthew felt oddly relieved to have someone telling him what to do. _That's why you pay a Valet with medical training,_ he mused. _To look after you when you are too damn tired to look after yourself._ This first week back working full time was proving far more difficult than he had ever imagined: the unexpected drama with Cora and Robert had put paid to any easing back in.

When Sergeant Barrow was most of the way through administering a back rub that was somehow both brutal and soothing, Matthew remembered his conversation with Mary the night before.

"Sergeant," he began, wincing a little as Barrow massaged a particularly sore area on his back, "would you mind if I asked you about Miss O'Brien?"

Sergeant Barrow stopped his rubbing for a moment, and then said, "If this is about what may have transpired with Lady Grantham, then what I know is not pretty, Sir. And I must say that with the benefit of hindsight, my own behaviour in the situation at the time in being silent on the matter cannot be considered pretty either."

"Of course. And it is up to you what you choose to divulge," Matthew replied.

Barrow was silent, continuing with his task. When he had finished he said, "Sir, you can roll over now. I'll help you with your leg stretches."

Now able to see Matthew's face, Barrow began to talk.

"Am I correct, Sir, that this is about the tragic business when Lady Grantham lost her unborn child?"

"It is," Matthew sighed heavily. "She confessed to Lady Grantham and then she had to leave, of course."

"I thought it would have to be that," Sergeant Barrow frowned.

"It is no excuse, Sir, but to my knowledge what she did was not planned, more a situation of acting spontaneously in a bad way."

"Sergeant," Matthew said a little grimly, "You need to know I find the whole thing entirely despicable and inexcusable. That said I still wish to understand the reasons, no matter how poor. But please don't try to justify any aspect of Miss O'Brien's action to me."

"Understood, Sir," Sergeant Barrow nodded.

Barrow then explained to Matthew how in the weeks before Cora had lost her baby, Miss O'Brien had somehow thought she was about to be sacked and had become upset and bitter.

"And then after she did her deed, and Lady Grantham lost her child, she was terribly upset at herself and very remorseful. And of course at some point in all of that she found out she had been wrong and Lady Grantham had never intended to sack her in the first place!" Sergeant Barrow rolled his eyes and sighed. "A very sorry mess. She never forgave herself. Some good came of it though. From then on, she was very attentive and protective of Lady Grantham. And woe betides anyone downstairs who dared say a word against her ladyship!

"Why do you think she chose now to confess?" Matthew asked, and then he said "Ow!"

Sergeant Barrow stopped what he was doing. He frowned. "Did you feel that, Sir?"

"Did I ever," Matthew winced.

"Hmm," answered Sergeant Barrow. "Interesting, that is. That was your left leg, Sir. "The past week or so there's been a few times I have wondered if your sense of touch was sharpening when you've reacted a bit during our stretching sessions." He repeated the stretch again, this time a little more gently and said, "how about now?"

"Yes. It's almost like it's burning," Matthew was frowning with his eyes shut. "And now?" the Sergeant said again, starting on a different stretch. Matthew winced and nodded again.

"Can you tell where it is without looking?" the Sergeant asked. Matthew reached to touch his upper leg where he had felt the muscles burning. "Is it here?" he said.

"Spot on," Barrow grinned. "I hope you are pleased Sir. This is progress!"

Matthew propped himself up on his elbows and smiled too. "I guess so. I am a little impatient, to be honest. I've had a few small improvements like this in the past month. But no one can tell me what it means for the long term. Not till I get to see the specialist."

"Well, you've only a week now before you see the gentleman," Barrow reassured him. They resumed the stretching routine, and after a few moments, Barrow asked after Mary. "Just how is Lady Mary Sir? It's been a bit of a rough return home for the both of you if you don't mind me saying."

"It has indeed," Matthew commented. "She's holding up, but she is terribly worried for her mother," he paused, frowning. "I wish I could figure out where Lord Grantham had disappeared to. That's the most vexing thing about all of this."

"Of course," answered Sergeant Barrow. "As if the upset with the war hasn't been enough for us all!" he shook his head. He had been surprised at himself: he too had felt rattled by the gloom that was pervading every part of the Abbey in the aftermath of the three deaths, Lady Grantham's distress over Miss O'Brien and Lord Grantham's unexplained absence.

"We're all done, Sir," Barrow announced a few minutes later. "A hot shower now, and with a bit of luck after that, you will be feeling a lot easier."

Barrow was right. By the time Matthew had showered and Barrow had placed him back on the edge of the bed and begun helping him dress for dinner, the soreness and fatigue he had had earlier had almost completely gone.

"Thank you, Sergeant," Matthew said. "I'm feeling a thousand times better. You are very good with that massage!"

"Thank you, Sir," Sergeant Barrow blushed a little. "I've had a good teacher in Sister Crawley of course."

"She is amazing, isn't she?" Matthew said fondly.

"She has a fine talent,' Sergeant Barrow agreed, handing Matthew his dress shirt.. "I understand that she will be accompanying you when you see Doctor Jones next week. Major Clarkson said that he wants to talk to her about the trial."

"Really?" Matthew was impressed. He began buttoning his shirt. "I hadn't known he had also wanted to discuss the trial with her."

"It's certainly a feather in her cap," Sergeant Barrow remarked. "And most well deserved of course! It is that hospital she hopes to secure a position with, isn't it?"

Matthew nodded. "I understand so. They are doing a lot of new things with rehabilitation there. And apparently, he is very well regarded. Working at his hospital is her first choice."

"Well, if the Doctor knows what's good for him, he'll look to hire her," Sergeant Barrow said confidently.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Dinner was another subdued affair. Cora, at least, was now present for the evening meal, but after the usual exchange of news on the day that had been, the table fell silent. It was during the silence that Matthew remembered he had wanted to check with Cora about the Pearson family's visit and whether it should go ahead as planned.

"Cora," he began a little hesitantly, "This Saturday coming. I had arranged some time ago for the family of a late Corporal from my Regiment to visit for afternoon tea. His wife and two children. With all that's been happening, I wondered…"

"How delightful!" Cora cut across him with a warm smile. "How old are the children?"

"I'm not exactly sure," Matthew admitted, surprised and pleased by her reaction. "I think Molly must be around eleven or twelve, and Ryan possibly around nine or ten.

"But Cora, are you sure it won't be too much," he frowned. "I can make it for another time if it is."

"Matthew, my dear," Cora said looking at him earnestly. "I don't know how many times of late I've had a villager come up to me and say how grateful they are to you and Evelyn for assisting their wounded brother, son or a cousin to find work. And this kindness you are showing to a family who has lost a husband and a father is yet another example of the good you are doing.

"With all of that, the very least I can do is to make the Abbey available and ensure they feel comfortable and welcomed."

Cora's unexpected compliment left Matthew speechless. The girls glanced at each other and smiled widely and Mary squeezed Matthew's hand under the table.

Cora looked back at them all impassively. And then with her face falling a little, she added somewhat bitterly, "And besides. It's not as if the place doesn't need the laughter and joy children might bring right now."

"Oh Mama," Mary said sympathetically. "Let's look forward to meeting the children this weekend shall we? And try not to think about anything else."

Cora said nothing. But she gave Mary a nod, and then she sighed.

As everyone stood to go through to the drawing room after dinner, Mary put her hand on Matthew's arm and said, "stay back with me for a minute, would you?"

Mary waited until the others were out of earshot, and then she turned to Matthew, a serious expression on her face. "I had my first shift back today. And Evelyn is not good. I am really quite worried for him."

"Evelyn?" Matthew frowned leaning back in his chair. "Tell me."

Mary filled him in on Evelyn's latest setback, and how low he had been when she had talked with him.

"What does Sarah-Jane say?" he asked.

"I managed to get her on her break during the afternoon. She told me he has been very withdrawn, but when she asks what is the matter he says it's nothing," Mary replied. "She asked what she should do and I gave her a bit of advice, you know the things that worked for you when you had that difficult time. And I also urged her to talk with Major Clarkson."

"And will she do that?" Matthew said, concerned.

"Yes, she said she will."

"Well, that's something. He's not having an easy time of it, is he?"

"Not at all," Mary said grimly. "He should have been out of here months ago, and instead he has had setback after setback. He told me today he doesn't think he's ever going to get out of here, at least not alive!"

"Poor Evelyn," Matthew rubbed his hand over his forehead. "I hate it that he is having to go through this! It is so unfair. Perhaps I should skip dinner with the family and have it with him in the officer's mess tomorrow night."

"Could you take him out?" Mary said unexpectedly. "That might be nicer. He's not that well, but I'm sure it would do him good to be away from here for a bit. I'm sure Major Clarkson wouldn't object to a short outing."

"Actually, tomorrow night is our committee meeting," Matthew said, remembering. "I guess we could have dinner at the pub beforehand. And if he's not up to the meeting, Branson could take him home and come back for me later."

"That sounds like a plan," Mary said. "And see if you can get him to open up, there has to be something we can do to help him through this."

Matthew pushed back from the table and turned his chair toward the drawing room door. "I'm glad you let me know all that," he said looking a little grim. "I'll call in and see him before I go to work tomorrow morning. And I am very glad he's got you and Sybil on the nursing staff as well as Sarah-Jane."

"I'm glad I can be there for him too," Mary answered sadly, opening the door for Matthew. "But what I really wish, is that there was something more the doctors could be doing more for him."

0-0-0-0-0-0

Matthew was in the midst of another chapter of _Howard's End_ when Mary finally joined him in bed. She had stayed on in the drawing-room a little later with Edith to keep her mother company. Sybil had left for the night shift at the hospital.

"How are you my darling?" she smiled, leaning back on the pillows. She sighed with pleasure at the sight of him. He looked relaxed and graceful and his powder blue silk pyjamas, which she had now decided were her firm favourites, accentuated his beautiful eyes so perfectly she felt her heart give a little jolt as she drank him in.

"Remarkably good," he answered, placing a bookmark inside the pages and closing his book. He put it on the bedside table, and then rolled on his side, propping his head on his elbow to look at her.

"Mmm," he breathed. "I love it when you have your hair out." He reached out and smoothed his hand over the significant length of it, enjoying its rich colour and softness and how it was shining slightly in the glow from the lamp.

"Remarkably good," she echoed. "And why might that be?" she teased. "My mother actually talking to you, and what's more, finally acknowledging the great work you and Evelyn have been doing for months?" she smiled.

"Actually no. Well, I don't mean it like that," he explained. "It was truly lovely to get a compliment from her. And I was genuinely pleased that she is still happy for me to have the Pearson's to tea this weekend. "I did believe she was quite within her rights to have said no with all that is going on!"

"But 'remarkably good' is because right now I have no pain despite a tough day, thanks to my valet who has been most ably trained in the art of massage by your dear sister, and furthermore, I am next to the most wonderful woman in the world and to my never ending amazement and delight, I realise that she is my wife!

"And," his voice dropped, "there are things I would very much like to do with her and to her."

With that, Matthew cupped his hand under her chin and pulled her face gently to his and kissed her. His soft warm lips and the exquisite taste of him immediately aroused her, and Mary's body began to throb.

Matthew pulled back from her a little and cocked his head to one side, his mouth slightly open whilst he surveyed her: the curve of her dark eyebrows. The warm, chestnut brown eyes. Her rosebud shaped mouth. The soft white skin of her throat. He could feel his skin tingling and his pulse begin to quicken. He fumbled with her nightdress, and with a bit of help from her, gently pulled it off, over her head, and he gazed hungrily at her curves, her small round breasts with their rosy coloured nipples, and the delightful triangle of black curls that right now, he wanted dearly to bury his face in so that he could taste her and breathe in her scent. She saw his look. Knew what he wanted, and the throbbing deep within her intensified.

She moved closer to him and, deliberately, tantalisingly slow, she undressed him, brushing her hands ever so softly across his body as she went: to Matthew, her strokes were like little trails of fire across his skin. Then Mary turned around the other way. She looked back at him. He nodded. They both knew what this was to be. They moved together and Matthew buried his face beneath the glossy dark curls he had been looking at so very longingly only moments before.

Her scent was intoxicating, and her warmth and endless wetness a delight to his tongue as it gently explored the soft folds of her centre. He found her sweet spot and began to circle it gently. Oh, the taste of her! His pulse quickened even more with the knowledge that it was his efforts now causing her to writhe and jerk and moan with such obvious pleasure. His hands ran gently over her thighs, delighting in their warmth and smoothness.

She hadn't been sure what to expect, when she took him in her mouth and began to gently caress his balls. She liked the taste of him, slightly salty, and she liked the softness of his skin.

And then, as he started to do that utterly exquisite licking and pressing of her with his tongue, making her more and more aroused, he began to grow and harden in her mouth and she found herself recklessly, ruthlessly turned on. She ran her tongue around his tip and stroked his balls with a little more vigour, feeling his body start to arch under her touch.

The waves of heat and pleasure passing through her intensified and she could taste something slightly sticky, slimy in her mouth. _Is he close?_ she half-thought. And that added to her excitement; being so intimate with this beautiful man that she had loved, unrequited for more than six years. And now he was hers. Her orgasm was violent; letting go of him for an instant, she uttered a loud, animalistic shriek. His mouth was full of her and his tongue, sore and swollen now, bore witness to her bucking, convulsing body.

His satisfaction was indescribable and highly arousing of itself: He had caused this; he had created this ecstasy for this beautiful woman who was now his wife. And then she felt it as she tightened her lips around him once more: a steady pulsing and jerking and spilling into her mouth and his body arching against her. "Oh God, ... Mary..." his voice was ragged. Thrilled, incredulous, and overcome all at once, she tasted his sweet, sticky seed.


	35. Chapter 35

The chemistry between them at breakfast was palpable: A smouldering sideways glance from Mary as she spooned fruit languidly onto her plate set Matthew's heart racing. When he reached for the teapot, Mary found herself entranced by the fineness and elegance of his hand and how perfectly it was accentuated by his snowy white sleeve and lustrous gold cufflink. Every word spoken to the other had a double entendre. Any excuse and their hands brushed.

Sybil and Edith both noticed, and threw each other furtive, amused glances. Carson noticed. He was back on duty for the first time since his illness, and he was so very pleased to see their utter devotion to each other that he could not stop smiling.

When it was time for Matthew to leave for Ripon, Mary didn't want to let him go. They kissed hungrily at the main entrance, not caring in the least who was watching. Finally, after Branson had tooted the horn cheekily for the second time, Matthew put his hands on Mary's shoulders and gently pushed her back. "Darling. I'm already late for work."

Mary stood up. She took his hand once more and pressed it to her lips. "Until tonight then," she whispered seductively. Flushed and a little breathless, he reluctantly bade his wife farewell and crossed the drive to the waiting car.

0-0-0-0-0-0

An early telephone call to the office from Charles brought Matthew crashing back to reality. "Carlisle has got people working for him," he told Matthew grimly. Charles had travelled to London the night before, and he had already managed three meetings with contacts there.

"Howard and Hunter are working on his defence, and he's retained the services of a couple of private investigators, both of whom, you could say, deal with the shadier side of the business.

"From what I'm hearing, he's busy looking for dirt on anyone and everyone he suspects might have been behind selling him out to the Military Intelligence Service," Charles paused and cleared his throat. "Including you, Matthew."

There was a silence on the telephone. Eventually, Matthew spoke, forcing himself to keep his voice even. "I see. And is there any word on exactly what he might have on Lord Grantham?"

"Nothing specific as yet. I'm fairly confident from what I heard last night and this morning that he's still trawling quite widely. So that has to be something in Lord Grantham's favour."

"A small comfort. For now, anyway," Matthew commented. "Have you got any names yet?"

"I should have by the end of the day with the meetings I've got to come."

"Thank you for all of this, Charles," Matthew said fervently. "It means a lot, you getting onto this so quickly."

"Never a problem, my boy," Charles said jovially. "Anything for you and Lady Mary! And besides: I can't say I wasn't happy handing you the task of trying to please Brookby's for a change. Always one of our more demanding clients." He gave a chuckle. "It will be a good test of your diplomatic skills."

"Given diplomacy isn't always my strong point, I worry you are putting a little too much faith in me," Matthew said ruefully. "They are tough taskmasters all right. They have already been back with a series of questions on what I sent through late yesterday!" The two men conferred on some other work matters for a few minutes and then bade each other good morning.

Matthew replaced the receiver and leaned back and shut his eyes, Charles's comments about Sir Richard Carlisle replaying in his mind. It was to be expected. Of course, Carlisle would be doing all he could to fight the charges. But it was still disconcerting knowing he was deliberately looking for anything that might expose those he suspected of wronging him.

_And Robert has gone and left himself wide open engaging in this tomfoolery with a maid in his employ!_ Matthew thought with a flash of anger.

But what bothered him most was the uncomfortable knowledge that the person doing the watching must be local at the least, or possibly on the Downton staff at worst. _If the chap watching has got stuff on Robert, then what might he have on me? Or anyone else at the Abbey?_ he mused. He rubbed his face with his hands and straightened up. It was a question to which, at this particular time, he had no answer.

Opening his eyes he could see the large file that was Brookby's sitting atop his desk. It seemed to be staring at him balefully. He exhaled deeply. _Hit the books Matthew, or you won't be home until midnight_, he muttered to himself, and finding the place where he had left off, he resumed reading the dossier of papers he had been part of the way through when Charles had called: albeit a little distractedly he remembered with a flash of guilt.

He allowed himself a moment of pleasure to recall the antics of the previous evening and early morning with his beautiful and oh, so insatiable wife. He grinned to himself and gave a heady sigh. And then taking a deep breath, he focused his attention back on the papers before him.

0-0-0-0-0-0

"How are your wedding preparations coming along?" Mary asked Edith over luncheon. They were the only two in the dining room: Sybil was at the hospital, and Cora was resting. Robert's continued absence and failure to get in touch were starting to affect her, and she had slept very badly.

"Reasonably well," Edith said. "Anthony's staff are very good, and Mama and I got quite a lot done that week before we both ended up getting sick. I got to London finally for my dressing fitting. The concept Lucile has for it is rather lovely," Edith said enthusiastically.

"Nice that one of us at the least will have been married in a _couture_ gown!" Mary said wryly.

"Oh, I don't know. Your gown was stunning. Perfect for the formality of a military wedding. I doubt many of your guests would have known it was bought ready to wear," Edith countered.

They concentrated for a few minutes on their luncheon and the tasty vegetable soup that Mrs Patmore had prepared. "Anthony seemed in good spirits when I saw him yesterday," Mary remarked. "He spent a lot of the time I was on shift out of doors talking with one of the gardeners!"

Edith smiled. "That sounds like Anthony. He's impressed with what we have done here with the roses. And he is a lot stronger," she paused and looked at Mary with a serious expression. "We're hoping he can be discharged early next month. Major Clarkson has a specialist coming in a few weeks to examine him before they make a final decision."

"I wish Evelyn could be doing the same," Mary said solemnly. "How was he this morning?"

"Quiet," Edith sighed. "But he was looking forward to going to the Grantham Arms with Matthew tonight, so that is something."

"And has Sarah-Jane talked with Major Clarkson yet?" Mary pressed.

"As a matter of fact, she has. She got quite cross with him! It seemed to work as he agreed to get another opinion. Last I heard from Sarah-Jane just before lunch was that one of the York doctors will be here to see him tomorrow."

"I am relieved to hear it," Mary frowned. "I really didn't like how he was talking yesterday. You know how stoic and uncomplaining he's always been."

"You are right," Edith agreed. "It is out of character for him to be so down."

"I'm not convinced it is just melancholia, you know," Mary went on. "I worry he's a lot more unwell than anyone realises."

"That's what I have started to get afraid of too," Edith said in a low voice. "Thank heavens Sarah-Jane insisted on another opinion, and right away."

They were both quiet for a moment. Evelyn was a dear friend to them both, and Edith, like Mary, had been alarmed at how he was when she had finally returned back to her duties at the convalescent home a few days earlier.

"And what do you think of your home-to-be?" Mary asked Edith, deciding they both needed a change of subject. She was interested to hear a little of the property Edith would be moving to, now that making a home was also on hers and Matthew's horizon.

"Loxley?" Edith said. "I like it. It's a little masculine, given how long Anthony has been without a woman in the house, but it has nice rooms, and there is a lot of potential to improve it with some re-decorating. The gardens have good bones, although I'd like to see them with a bit more colour."

"Let's hope Brown gave Anthony a few tips about the roses yesterday then!" Mary said a smile.

Edith chortled. "I do hope so. And little light gardening should be something he will be able to cope with."

"Matthew and I are going to look for something near the village," Mary said, looking at Edith thoughtfully. "He wants to be close to Isobel."

"So you won't stay on at Downton?" Edith asked in surprise.

Mary shook her head. "Not initially. Of course, at some time in the future we will end up back here, but both of us like the idea of our own home, at least for the early part of our marriage."

Edith smiled. "How exciting!" she paused and looked at her sister thoughtfully. "Although there won't be much about that is suitable, of course."

"No," Mary agreed. "We will probably have to settle for a property with a decent acreage and then extend whatever home is on it to suit."

The two of them continued to discuss ideas for their respective homes a while longer until Carson returned and announced that one of the nurses was asking for Lady Edith and could she return to the ward.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Arriving home at twilight from her hospital shift, Sybil took a detour to the garage, hoping Tom was still there. She needed a distraction. It had been a tough afternoon, with several children very ill with measles: there was one she was sure they would lose by the morning. To her great relief, she saw the light was still on.

"Good evening!" she said cheerily, entering to find Tom with his shirt sleeves rolled up, in the midst of putting tools away: it was clear he had been doing some work on one of the cars.

"Sybil! What a nice surprise. I didn't think I'd see you after your shift," Tom said his eyes lighting up as always at her smile.

He leant down and with considerable ease, picked up the heavy steel toolbox in one hand and the oilcan in the other. He carried them to the end of the garage and put them away. Sybil followed, enjoying watching his powerful forearms ripple and flex as he went about his task.

"I had to see you," she said. "It was a difficult shift. We had two very sick children and one of them is unlikely to last the night."

"Oh dear," Tom turned to her and frowned. "As if you haven't had quite enough illness and death to contend with of late!"

"It is getting a bit much," Sybil admitted. "With the war over, I think I expected things would get easier, but of course people do get sick as well as hurt."

Tom walked across to the sink. He soaped his hands and began to scrub them vigorously with the nailbrush.

"Well here's hoping you get a physical therapy position. I imagine that won't be quite so tough as the nursing has proved to be."

"No. It tends to be a lot more positive because it's all focused on recovery," Sybil gave a heavy sigh. "And it can't come soon enough!"

She leaned against the garage wall watching idly as Tom continued with his vigorous scrubbing.

"It all depends on me finding somewhere of course," she said a little glumly. "There are some worrying signs about: I heard recently that women who are married are finding it hard to renew their teaching posts with education boards wanting to give preference to returned servicemen. And there's some talk of a marriage bar in medicine as well!"

"Well, getting the vote was never going to mean the battle for women's rights was over," Tom said reasonably. "You girls are going to have to keep fighting every step of the way. You know that."

Sybil rolled her eyes. "Just like the Irish are going to have to continue to fight the English for independence every step of the way!"

"Too right." Tom looked at her seriously, and then he grinned.

"But thinking just about us for a moment, I've got some good news," he said.

"Oh?" Sybil looked at him expectantly.

"I've got an interview for a position with the _Daily Herald_ in London next week," Tom said his grin widening.

"What's that?" Sybil asked, frowning.

"It's a socialist paper that George Lansbury and a few others established before the war," Tom replied. He paused, and then said a little hesitantly, "They have been active supporters of the pacifist movement right through."

Sybil's enormous dedication to the soldiers she nursed had left Tom a little uncertain on where her former views on movements like pacifism now stood.

To his relief, Sybil nodded approvingly. "At least someone has been speaking out against the madness of the fighting," she said grimly. "Whilst the rest of us have been too busy cleaning up the mess it has made of far too many young men's lives." She looked at him thoughtfully. "It sounds like a position that could suit you very well."

"I hope so," he replied. "The pay won't be brilliant. But it's a step in the door to a career as a journalist if I get it. Who knows? Perhaps in a year I'll have the sort of position that's almost respectable, and maybe then we can be together properly."

Sybil gave him a slightly troubled look.

"You know, Tom. I've been thinking. The awful business with the 'flu..." her voice trailed off. "And then, today, Mary…" she began to smile.

"I was about to say the Captain!" Tom interrupted with a chuckle. They both looked at each other knowingly and began to laugh.

"Mary was floating around looking like the cat that ate the cream!" Sybil snorted.

"And Captain Crawley was completely distracted! I doubt he got any work done at the office!" Tom grinned. "I had to toot them twice. He was already late for work and they did not want to stop kissing!"

Sybil gave another snort, and then both of them began to laugh so hard they couldn't stop.

"Have you ever seen two people so completely head over heels in love?" Sybil said eventually, wiping tears from her eyes.

"Not to that extent. But then…" and Tom stopped laughing all of a sudden, and he looked at her. A longing, wistful look, his blue eyes fixed on hers so intently that Sybil felt her body begin to tingle. She returned his gaze, unblinking, willing him, wanting him to say something. He didn't. He just kept looking at her.

_Say it yourself, silly. You started this,_ Sybil told herself grimly.

"What I was trying to say, Tom," she ventured finally, "Today, Mary and Matthew… oh, for heaven's sake, it's time!" she said, her eyes wide. "Time to us to move forward. Let's stop waiting and just do it."

"Now? Tom said, opening his mouth in surprise.

"Now. Life's too short Tom! People keep dying!" she said beseechingly. "It's made me think. Reassess. I don't want us to delay getting what Mary and Matthew have got a minute longer!"

Tom straightened and wiped his hands on the towel. He turned to her and said slowly, "I'm sorry. But I've waited so long for those words I can't believe I'm hearing them. You won't mind burning your bridges?

"Mind? Who is there left to mind? It's not as if Papa has got any moral leg to stand on!" Sybil blurted out bitterly. "And he's not even here. Let's go and start our new life. Fetch me the matches!"

Tom was staring at her solemnly.

"You know my girl. A while ago I'd have been all for it. But now… oh, damn it, Sybil. I'm not happy with us eloping. It doesn't seem right. Can't we do this properly? Your parents don't deserve the deceit. I'm thinking of your mother," he added hurriedly when he saw Sybil's face darken. A_nd it's not just Lord and Lady Grantham, _he thought to himself._ I couldn't let the Captain down. He will expect I do the right thing. And I know he will support us if I do._

Sybil face softened, and she looked at him steadily for a long moment. "I think you are right," she said at last. "But they will object, you know that don't you Tom."

"They will. But you don't need their permission. And at least this way they are forewarned and we have a chance to explain ourselves to them before it becomes public."

Sybil started to smile. "Very well. Let's do it properly. Tell me how you think we might go about it," and the two of them sat down together on the garage bench and began making plans.

0-0-0-0-0-0

A little later that same evening, Branson drove Evelyn to the Grantham Arms to join Matthew for dinner. Matthew had been with Molesley at Crawley House, catching up on the work of the Trust they had set up to support the district's wounded soldiers into jobs. A light drizzle was falling and there was a chill in the air when Branson opened the passenger's side door and helped Evelyn to stand. He passed him his crutches, saying, "I'll accompany you inside, Sir."

"Thank you," Evelyn replied.

Branson had to steady him twice as they made their way from the motor to the entrance of the Grantham Arms. It pained him to see Lieutenant Napier struggling with yet another setback to his recovery. Branson had developed a lot of respect for him over the preceding months, witnessing the quiet, yet highly effective way he had gone about the task of persuading local employers to take on wounded men. The Lieutenant, like Captain Crawley, was a man who Branson had never felt patronised or belittled by, in stark contrast to the many others of his class he had so often had occasion to chauffeur.

"I see the Captain's landed the best table," Branson said with a chuckle when they were safely inside the warmth of the public house.

Evelyn managed a smile. "That will be Joe," he said in reference to the publican. "He'll do anything for us these days - so much business with us holding the meetings here!"

Sure enough, they were immediately greeted by a friendly shout from behind the bar, and Joe the publican came around to meet them, drying his hands on a towel as he went. "Lieutenant Napier! Great to see you out and about now that awful flu is over," he grinned. "Come this way. Captain Crawley's already here," and he led Evelyn to the table beside the fire where Matthew sat, so absorbed in reading some papers, that he was oblivious to their arrival. He looked up with a start when Joe pulled the chair out for Evelyn and Branson helped him to sit down.

"Glad to see you taking the committee papers so seriously!" Evelyn quipped by way of greeting.

Matthew grinned. "Too right. And I'm glad you could make it old chap. It's a bit of a miserable night out there."

"Would you like your sore leg elevated sir?" Branson asked. Evelyn nodded. "You are very kind, Branson. Learning a few tricks from Sister Crawley I see!"

Branson blushed slightly and gave a chuckle. "Have to say I am, Sir."

Joe had overheard, and immediately brought across another chair and a cushion for Evelyn to rest his leg on.

"I'll be back for you at eight o'clock," Branson said to Evelyn, and he farewelled them and turned to go.

"And what may I get you, gentlemen?" Joe enquired.

"Unfortunately, because I'd kill for a whisky, I need to stick to soda and lemon tonight," Evelyn said ruefully. "But you'll have a whisky, won't you Matthew?"

"I most certainly will. And we're here for dinner too, thank you, Joe."

"Yorkshire pud tonight," Joe replied. "I'll be back shortly with your drinks gentlemen," and he returned to the bar.

Evelyn grinned. "I have to say it's bloody nice to get out."

Matthew chuckled. "I thought you might feel that way after being cooped up the last couple of weeks! It reminds me of the first time I came here with Roy and Alfred. It felt like such a novelty, and we were all so unused to drinking we all ended up half cut. Luckily Branson turned up, or I think we would have spent the night in a ditch somewhere!"

Evelyn laughed. "Those two are a couple of characters all right," he said. "Alfred has written to me a few times. He's enjoying being back at the bank. And it sounds like he might be seeing his former girlfriend again."

"Really? I thought she had called it off," Matthew was surprised.

"Well, she had. But it's back on again now. Perhaps she decided she could cope with him being without legs after all."

Evelyn's face fell. "It's not easy you know. Alfred's back to his old career and you and Eddie are out getting on with your lives. Back at work and enjoying it. And you're married. And you've got your health. You're getting stronger all the time Matthew! I just seem to be going backwards," he gave a heavy sigh.

"You are having a bloody awful time of it, that's for sure," Matthew said solemnly. "What is Major Clarkson saying? Could you ask for a referral?"

"He's been reluctant," Evelyn said heavily. "But Sarah-Jane was with me this morning when he came in, and she got pretty direct with him and insisted, so he's finally organised for another opinion. Tomorrow, all going well."

"I'm glad to hear that," Matthew said. "And it's great you've got an advocate in Sarah-Jane! God, if I hadn't had Mother doing that for me early on, I wouldn't even be here to have this conversation with you."

Evelyn smiled a little bitterly. "I guess that's true. I suppose I should be thankful she hasn't given up. Even if I have."

Matthew's heart gave a lurch on hearing Evelyn's words. "Don't give up, old chap," he said gently. "You've got too much to live for! Your wedding for one thing!"

Evelyn was silent for a moment. "We keep delaying it," he said glumly. "The thing is, Matthew, I wanted to be able to walk down the aisle for my own wedding. I didn't think that was too much to ask. But now…" He glanced at Matthew and shook his head, "I'm sorry Matthew. I shouldn't be talking like this!"

"Talk how you want," Matthew countered. "If I had been in your position with a real chance, I'm sure I would have been exactly the same."

"So what would you do now if you were me?" Evelyn looked at him sadly.

"I think you need to work out what would serve you best right now," Matthew said firmly. "With Sarah-Jane.

"If getting married sooner gives you something nice to aim for, no matter where you are with your recovery, then do that. But if you want to focus on a full recovery first, well that would be fine too."

He looked at Evelyn and gave a sheepish grin. "But I must say old chap, being married is an awful lot of fun. If I were you, I think a wedding is what I would choose."

Evelyn laughed in spite of himself. "I can tell. You and Mary. You're both glowing!"

"But seriously, Evelyn," Matthew said. "Perhaps that is what's more important right now. Being able to be together properly with Sarah-Jane. You light each other up. And you might find that helps you recover quicker anyway."

"But what if I don't recover Matthew?" Evelyn said unexpectedly.

Matthew looked at him, shocked. And then he saw it. Evelyn was scared. Actually, scared didn't really cut it. He was terrified. It was in his eyes. Naked, raw fear. _He's not low,_ Matthew realised with a growing sense of horror. _He's afraid. He really thinks this is it. He really thinks he's going to die! Is he more unwell than anyone knows?_ Matthew felt a lump come into his throat.

"I hope to God you do recover Evelyn," he swallowed. "But I'm not going to say anything glib. We've both seen far too much for that. But for god's sake, insist this new Doctor assesses you properly," he said looking steadily at his friend. "And you know what? If you are that worried? Get married soon. Tomorrow if you want! Give up on waiting for the right time. You both love each other. God damn it, that's enough. And god damn it you of all people deserve the love of a good woman!"

Evelyn looked away from Matthew, into the fire. He was blinking back tears. Matthew nursed his shot glass, staring as he swirled the liquid around and around. He felt quite shaken up. They were both silent.

A little while later, the publican arrived with their meals. He set the steaming plates down with a flourish and looked at them both.

"You boys are looking a little solemn tonight! Another round of drinks? These ones on me?"

"That's very generous of you Joe," Matthew said gratefully. "How about it old chap? You don't want to change your mind and have a whisky?" He glanced at Evelyn.

Evelyn shook his head. "Not the whisky. But another soda and lemon would be nice thank you, Joe."

They ate their meals in silence. Evelyn could only manage a few mouthfuls, which disconcerted Matthew even more. Finally, Evelyn pushed his plate away and looked across at his friend.

"Give me a distraction Matthew," he said, managing a half smile.

"Bloody hell, Evelyn," Matthew fought the swirl of emotions threatening to engulf him. He swallowed and forced himself to grin. "Very well, what might do the trick?"

"Let's start with here," Evelyn replied. "Just what in heavens name is going on at the Abbey? Robert stalks off over a week ago now, Cora shouting at him from an upstairs window! And since then, there's been an atmosphere so thick you could cut it with a knife."

"A messy story," Matthew said ruefully. "And I really shouldn't be saying anything," he looked Evelyn in the eyes. "Can you guarantee it goes no further?"

"Of course," Evelyn chided him gently. "Remember I spent most of the war in defence intelligence old chap. I'm an expert at keeping my mouth shut!" He gave Matthew a mock salute, and with that, Matthew began to talk.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Friday morning felt like Thursday morning at the office all over again. There was an early phone call from Charles with a little more news on what Carlisle's henchmen had been up to. And the next round of to and fro with Brookby's over the advice Harvell and Carter were providing for the pending deal. But shortly after eleven o'clock, it didn't feel like Thursday anymore at all. There was a knock on the office door. "Come in," Matthew called. Beatrice, the receptionist entered and stood a little timidly just inside his office.

"Mr Crawley," she said hesitantly, "I have message for you. Lady Mary will be here at midday and she is expecting you to take her to luncheon."

"Oh, she is, is she?" Matthew's face broke into a delighted smile. "And from the way you are saying it, I have no choice but to do as Lady Mary has instructed?"

"It would appear that way Sir," Beatrice replied her lips twitching a little. "I did take the liberty of checking your appointments, however, and you are free up until two o'clock."

"Thank you, Beatrice. And would you mind booking us a table at the Spa Hotel, please? If we are too late, please select us another suitable establishment. You know what I like to eat."

"Of course, Sir," Beatrice smiled politely and she turned to go.

With the pleasant prospect of luncheon with Mary to look forward to, Matthew returned to the Brookby file with renewed energy, and by the time Beatrice knocked on his office door shortly after midday to announce Lady Mary's arrival, he had almost finished his report.

"So tell me," Matthew said curiously when they were finally seated at their table in the Spa Hotel dining room. "What business is it that brings you all the way to Ripon to see me for lunch?"

"I've got news, both good and not so good. And since we had so little time together yesterday with you out all evening, I wanted to do it in person," her face was serious.

She reached across the table and took his hand. "Evelyn has been taken to hospital in York," she gave a gulp. "The doctor who came this morning insisted he is admitted to the military infirmary there. I imagine the ambulance will have arrived by now."

"Oh, my," Matthew said at last. "I can't say I'm not relieved."

"Me too," Mary said grimly. "He immediately suspected the infection had got into the bone. It may be worse, they are not sure yet. So Evelyn is definitely in the right place. And Sarah-Jane travelled with him. She told me that Lady Branksome is going up there too."

Matthew reached across the table for Mary's other hand, and the two of them held each other tightly.

"I think he knew," Matthew said almost inaudibly. ""He was so afraid, Mary!" Matthew's voice shook.

Mary swallowed and held Matthew's hands a little tighter. "He was. Edith and I could see it too." She gazed at Matthew her eyes dark and her face solemn. "Let's pray for him Matthew," she said. "In case there is a God. Go to church after lunch."

Matthew couldn't help a small smile at Mary's earnestness to pray, despite her own doubts. He squeezed her hands. "Of course," he answered gently.

A polite cough from the waiter brought them back to the practical business of choosing a dish from the menu. Over their meal, Mary shared the better news she had: a constructive meeting with Jarvis, who in Robert's absence, seemed keen to bring Mary up to speed as quickly as he could on the affairs of the estate. "He's given me a rather large box of files to start reading through," Mary said with a rueful smile. "And he also told me the steps he's been taking to deal with the tenants in arrears."

Oh?" Matthew smiled, in spite of himself.

"Perhaps it's me being married to you, but he went through each of the situations in detail and told me exactly where each was at!" Mary said with a chuckle.

Matthew smiled a little more. "You're going to be fabulous in this role, Mary," he said enthusiastically. "Getting such good cooperation from Jarvis shows just how much respect you've got around the place, and how you are already viewed as a manager."

Mary blushed at his praise. "But it's you who has been the one identifying the problems," she countered.

"That's the easy bit," Matthew retorted. "Doing something about them is where it gets tough, and that's where you have proven yourself. Look at the way you turned the hospital around!"

"Aided by the huge injection of funds from the army though," Mary replied. "Which would have been frittered away and wasted without your careful management," Matthew reminded her. "There were no systems, nor accountability remember? It was you who put all that in place."

In spite of herself, Mary beamed. She had never been one to seek out praise, and for the most part, she was uncomfortable when it came her way. But when it was coming from Matthew, well, that was an entirely different matter. Impulsively she leaned across the table and gave him a lightning quick kiss.

"You are so very good for me Mr Crawley," she said softly. "I think I must be the luckiest woman in the world."

"And I, therefore, must be the luckiest man," Matthew replied, his magnetic blue eyes fixing her with such a warm and loving gaze that Mary's skin prickled.

The waiter returned to clear their plates, and they ordered tea to finish.

"Mary," Matthew hesitated. "I ended up telling Evelyn about the Robert Cora saga last night. Confidentially of course. But he reminded me that Viscount Branksome is also a member of a lesser known gentlemen's club called Trumps and that one offers accommodation, including to non-members if they are endorsed. I tried them today and they said no, but there was something about the response I got when I phoned that did make me wonder."

"Well, perhaps we need to try all of them again," Mary said practically.

Matthew nodded. "Very well. I'll do that later this afternoon," he paused. "Mary, there are some other things to do with Robert that I need to ask you about. Are you all right with that? I mean, it is a difficult enough day with what is happening for Evelyn."

"Just say it, Matthew," Mary said with a sigh. "The longer he is away with no word, the worse Mama is. She slept badly again last night."

"Very well," Matthew said. He leaned down and picked up his leather folio, which he had placed on the floor beside his chair. Opening it, he removed a sheet of paper and pushed it across the table in front of Mary. "This is a list of names. Can you tell me if there are any on there that you recognise? Local people, or… Downton staff."

Mary quickly scanned the list and shook her head. "None of these are familiar," she said. She fixed him with a frown. "Where did you get these names from?"

Matthew looked down at the table and drummed his fingers on its edge. He took a deep breath. "These people are either employees, former employees, or known acquaintances of Sir Richard Carlisle," he said heavily. "Charles got them. He's in London."

Mary gasped and put her hand to her mouth. "You don't mean…" she said tremulously, "oh no. Matthew, is it him? Is he behind this?"

"Unfortunately it's starting to look that way," Matthew said grimly. "I'm really sorry, Mary!"

Mary had begun to shake. Matthew reached across and took her hand. "Mary, I wish I hadn't had to tell you this. But I had to. Someone is watching Robert, is watching me, and possibly others at Downton too, on behalf of Sir Richard. We need to find out who he is."

"Of course you had to tell me," Mary swallowed. "Oh, Matthew! I thought this was all behind us!"

"So did I, Matthew said grimly. "But Carlisle is facing treason charges. The way his mind works, he'll be looking around to take as many as he can down with him."

Mary stared at him frowning slightly. "Have you warned Sergeant Barrow?"

Matthew shook his head. "No," he paused. "Why?" and then he gave an audible gasp. "Oh god, no. Maurice!" and Mary saw his hands tremble.

Mary took a deep breath. "And it sounds like I'm going to have to name a few more on the staff who have pasts, so we can keep an extra special eye out for them too," she said reluctantly. Matthew nodded. "Unfortunately yes," and he removed his notebook from his folio and picked up his pen. At the top of the page, he wrote _Barrow – warn Maurice_. "All right my dear, let me have them."


	36. Chapter 36

It was ten o'clock when Mary finally awoke on Saturday morning. Matthew was still fast asleep. She got up quietly and rang for Anna from the dressing room.

"I'm going out for a ride," she informed her when she arrived with a cup of tea and a slice of toast. "I need to clear my head."

"Did you not sleep well?" Anna asked, concerned.

"Neither of us did," Mary said, sitting down at her dresser and reaching for the teacup. "And Matthew had a nightmare. He hasn't had one in weeks. Oh Anna!" Mary's face was anguished. "We had such a wonderful time with our wedding and the honeymoon. I was just starting to think with all of that and the war over that maybe everything would be normal again, and now…" she threw her hands up the air and let them fall helplessly on her lap.

"A shame, that's what it is," Anna remarked, as she started to brush out Mary's hair. "You and the Captain, you should have come back to a happy house after your honeymoon.

"And instead we've had maids dying, Miss O'Brien leaving, and this funny business upsetting her Ladyship," she pursed her lips. "And now your dear friend Lieutenant Napier has been taken ill!"

"It hasn't been easy," Mary's face was pensive. "And what's happening with Evelyn is especially difficult for Matthew. Right on top of everything else!"

Anna could see she was fighting back tears. It must have been a bad night indeed for her to have awoken so agitated.

"Take some deep breaths, my Lady, she said in a calm tone. "And your ride in a little while will do you the world of good." She put her hands on Mary's shoulders and gave her a gentle pat.

"Any more word from Bates?" Mary asked eventually, as Anna began the task of pinning her hair.

Anna shook her head. "Nothing. Not since that call I told you about, on Wednesday."

"Well then. Let's hope some of the leads about Papa's whereabouts that Matthew got yesterday pay off," Mary replied frowning. "I do think it is very unfair of Papa to be putting Mama through all of this worry! Especially when she is still so frail after the 'flu!"

Anna said nothing, but through the mirror Mary saw Anna give the slightest nod of her head to show that, even though it wasn't her place to comment, she did agree.

When her hair was done, Anna helped her into her riding habit. She quickly swallowed down the last of her tea, bade Anna goodbye, and left for the stables.

The jumbled thoughts and emotions that had kept her tossing and turning all night were still there as she urged Diamond first into a canter, and then into a gallop across the paddocks towards the hills behind the lake.

Sadness and apprehension when she thought of Evelyn, and the look that had been on the Doctor's face when he barked at Sergeant Barrow to call the ambulance. Distress at her mother's uncharacteristic tears at Friday's dinner. And nervousness, and, she had to admit, more than a little fear, at the spectre of Sir Richard somehow being involved in her father's predicament.

Eventually, the concentration required of her to guide the horse at speed across the uneven ground forced her attention to the here and now. She breathed deeply, enjoying the cool, damp air rushing past her face. She felt her body moving and correcting along with the animal as they sped across the fields and through the forest along the soft muddy paths. She exalted in the effort it required of her, and the warmth in her skin from the exertion.

Slowly the jumbled thoughts started to still and crystallise and her head began to clear. Near the top of the hill, she reined Diamond in until the horse was walking at a sedate pace and she took the time to gaze at the scenic countryside below her.

The Abbey looked small enough to be a doll's house from this distance. The lake was a silver streak, and the forest and wooded areas scattered across the estate were textured smudges of black and green. The flush of new grass marking the lawns and paddocks was so bright it lit up the grey morning, and Mary gave a sigh of pleasure at the panorama.

When she arrived back half an hour later, her cheeks flushed and her clothes spattered with mud, she was feeling a lot better. Unfortunately, her calm state was not to last. Carson met her in the front hall, an expectant look on his face.

"My Lady," he began. "I'm sorry to inform you but I've had an urgent call from Major Clarkson. He needs you and Sergeant Barrow down at the hospital as soon as you can. Some sort of paperwork problem that the Army Corps needs to be sorted immediately."

"Oh, dear," Mary said, dismayed. "I'm supposed to be here with Captain Crawley entertaining his visitors this afternoon. Did Major Clarkson say how long I was needed?"

Carson shook his head. "I'm sorry, my lady. He was just very insistent you get there as soon as possible."

"Very well. Carson, please ask Anna to come to my dressing room immediately. And tell Sergeant Barrow I'll see him at the car in twenty minutes."

0-0-0-0-0-0

It was almost midday when Matthew finally awoke. He rang the bell and was surprised when Anna turned up.

"Good morning Sir," she said cheerfully. "I hope you're feeling better after your sleep. Lady Mary told me you both had a bad night."

"We did," Matthew sighed, a shadow crossing his face as he recalled what had happened. He looked at Anna, puzzled. "Where is Sergeant Barrow?"

"Major Clarkson called him and Lady Mary down to the hospital urgently. They left about fifteen minutes ago. Some sort of paperwork problem apparently! Lady Mary says she is very sorry. She hopes she will be back for your visitors but she wanted me to warn you she may not."

"Oh dear," Matthew frowned. "I do hope she can get back. She and Mrs Pearson hit it off really well when they were organising Daisy's dress."

Anna nodded and made a placating noise. She opened the curtains and then turned back to Matthew. "Sir, Sergeant Barrow said he has arranged for your mother to come in and assist you in his absence. She has been on duty this morning, and her shift finishes quite soon."

Matthew immediately brightened. "Oh! A lucky coincidence she was on shift. I was hoping I could get to see her today."

Anna smiled. "And in the meantime, Sir, would you like me to bring you some tea and toast?"

"Tea and toast would be marvellous thank you. And you might as well bring some in for mother too."

"Of course. I'll get that fixed for you now," and Anna turned to leave.

Isobel arrived as expected, fifteen minutes later, still in her nurse's uniform. They greeted each other warmly. She, too, was pleased to have the opportunity for some time alone with her son.

Matthew urged her to sit down for a few minutes with her cup of tea, concerned at how tired she looked.

"Mother," he said gently, "Are you all right? How was the ward this morning?"

"Busy," she sighed, nursing her teacup. "Mary probably told you. We've had a group of new patients all of whom are quite severely impaired. And whilst they're well enough now to be out of the hospital, it's taking a lot to care for them. So even though the overall numbers are down, there's more than enough to do for the team of us that are left." She gave another sigh and frowned at Matthew.

"I guess I thought the pace might have been easier by now. We'll be closed in six weeks after all!"

"What will happen to those men then?" Matthew asked, concerned.

"They will have to be transferred to one of the larger military rehabilitation hospitals, which for most of them, will mean being a long way from their families.

"It is far from ideal," she shook her head. "I try not to think about it too much," she finished sadly.

Matthew reached across and patted her arm. "Mother, you are doing all you can," he said. "You make a huge difference to your patients. And I'm sure you will to these men too, even if it's not for long."

Isobel said nothing. Matthew sensed she was close to tears. It was no wonder. The war was supposed to be over. But what was 'over'? There was no 'over' to the nurses like his mother still caring for wounded servicemen. And there never could be 'over' for the men themselves, when their lives had been irrevocably changed. And here they were, closing down when, in her eyes, there was still an unmet need for care and rehabilitation. For the person of conscience that she was, it was hard to countenance.

Their conversation reminded him suddenly of Evelyn, and he inhaled sharply. "Mother," he said cautiously, "Any word on Evelyn?"

"Not as yet, my dear," she answered. "When Sarah-Jane called last night, she said he was comfortable, and being monitored hourly. She said she would call us again today with an update, so I expect we'll hear more later."

"Well, I guess no news might be good news," Matthew said hopefully. Isobel said nothing, but she forced herself to nod and smile. Matthew had enough on his plate to deal with today, she decided, without her adding to it by outlining just how tenuous his friend's situation really was.

She stood up and resumed her nurse persona. "Now, my dear, are you wanting to shower? Time is marching on, and I know you are expecting guests this afternoon."

A while later, when he had returned from the shower, ready to dress, their conversation turned to Cora and Robert. Matthew was initially cautious in what he divulged, but it was quickly apparent that Isobel knew even more than he did: she and Violet had spent several afternoons supporting Cora when her daughters had been unavailable.

"The matter that Cora keeps bringing up is Robert blaming himself for Jane's death," Isobel mused. "It is very strange indeed. She's furious that he cared at all of course. And very angry with Jane for getting involved! And then she gets angry at Robert. She's imagining all sorts of terrible things. Had he hurt her? Was she pregnant with his child? Pregnant women are always more at risk with influenza. Did he take her somewhere and expose her to try and deliberately kill her?" Isobel shook her head. "Those sorts of extreme thoughts are driving Cora quite mad," she finished grimly. "Violet and I have had a real battle to try and keep her from thinking the very worst."

Matthew fumbled with his shirt buttons, a troubled expression on his face.

"Matthew? What do you know?" she asked bluntly.

He snapped his head up and stared at her, his eyes dark. "I know… something Mother. I'm not sure if I should divulge it though. Mary hasn't told Cora yet. She wants it kept from her at least until Robert had been found and has the chance to give his side of the story."

"Very well. Please don't tell me then," Isobel said in a firm tone. "Cora herself can choose whether she does later," she added. The troubled look was still on Matthew's face. "Matthew?" she asked. "What is it?"

He looked at her, his jaw working slightly. "Mother, there are some other things I can, and in fact, I need to tell you," he said slowly. "As they also affect me, actually the whole family, and maybe even you," he finished.

"Oh?" Isobel handed Matthew his necktie.

Matthew proceeded to tell her what he, with Charles's help, had uncovered of Sir Richard's likely involvement.

"This is a very nasty business," Isobel said worriedly. She removed Matthew's waistcoat from its hanger and passed it to him. "It is difficult enough when a marriage is tested in this way. But to have someone deliberately trying to bring harm as a result?" She frowned. "You know, my dear, I never liked Sir Richard Carlisle. Such a vindictive man! I could see that in him the first time I met him."

"At least we have some idea what he's up to now," Matthew said grimly. "Better the devil you know." Matthew stopped buttoning his waistcoat for a minute and stared at his mother.

"You don't think he'd try and implicate me in the Marconi affair do you?" he asked.

"How?" Isobel questioned. "You were only based at the Attorney-General's Office a mere two months!"

"The problem is, Mother, the firm provided services to Sir Rufus's office over a far longer period than the short time I was on placement there. And if you remember, I didn't last long with them. I didn't like their ethics. What if I had been complicit in something without realising?"

"What sort of work did they have you doing?" Isobel asked intently.

"That's a good question," Matthew rubbed his forehead with his hand. "It is hard to recall, the workload was so relentless. I think it was mostly public law advice when I was with Sir Rufus at his office."

"And the rest of the time?" Isobel pressed.

"It was mostly deals. And maybe some share offers. I do remember a couple of mergers and I think I might also have done the work on an acquisition."

"None of that sounds remotely criminal to me!" Isobel answered, helping him into his suit jacket. "I don't think you need be concerned, my dear. And besides, the Marconi affair is well in the past now."

"I do hope you are right, Mother," Matthew said worriedly. "I just can't shake my unease." His hands trembled again, causing him, once more, to fumble with the buttons.

"How about another cup of tea Matthew?" Isobel said, concerned at the level of her son's disquiet. "I'll ring the bell. And I would very much enjoy the chance to go outside with you and sit on your terrace. I haven't had that opportunity yet!"

"What a nice idea," Matthew forced himself to smile, recognising his mother was trying to cheer him up.

Isobel found Matthew his coat, and then she went to retrieve her own from the nurse's cloakroom. When she returned she helped him into his wheelchair, and he showed her through their sitting room out onto the terrace.

"How delightful!" Isobel exclaimed, gazing appreciatively about the generous space, with its flower-filled urns and elegant wrought iron furniture. "And I do love the outlook," she said, taking in the view across the manicured lawns to the sheep grazing peaceably on the paddocks beyond.

"The terrace is my favourite part of our suite," Matthew remarked. He gave a sudden grin. "I'm even growing fond of the topiary, you know," he said gesturing the tightly clipped _buxus_ that adorned the row of stone planters marking the edge of the terrace.

Isobel chuckled. "Your father would be pleased to hear that! When you were very young, he painstakingly tended a topiary garden in our first house. He had all sorts of shapes. There was even a rabbit! When we moved, his biggest regret was that the new place didn't have any established box that he could clip. And by then he was so busy with work and being a father, he never got around to establishing his own."

Matthew chuckled at the thought of his father hard at work on a topiary rabbit. "Oh dear. I wonder what he would say now? Would he want me out here creating some mad shapes?"

"I wouldn't feel any pressure, my dear," Isobel said, her lips twitching slightly. "Brown might have something to say if he found one of his perfect topiary cones had suddenly transformed into a rabbit!"

They both began to laugh, and they were still laughing when Anna arrived with the tea tray, and some buttered fruit loaf. She placed it on the patio table, glad to see that Matthew had relaxed. She had a message from Mary to pass on.

"She asked that you offer her apologies to Mrs Pearson, and said she should be back around four o'clock," Anna reported.

Matthew thanked her and gestured his mother to sit down. Isobel poured the tea. She handed Matthew a cup and pulled her coat a little tighter in the cool air. "So, my dear," she said expectantly. "How was it this week, back to work full time?"

"To be honest, it hasn't been easy," replied Matthew. "Some complex cases, and trying to concentrate on those whilst looking into the Robert situation was pretty tough."

"How about physically?" Isobel enquired.

"Not too bad," Matthew paused and looked at his mother thoughtfully. "But you know, Mother. I don't think I would be managing if I didn't have the fitness I'm gaining from the sessions with Sybil."

"They're making that much difference?" Isobel said, interested.

Matthew nodded. "They are. And Sergeant Barrow too. He is very good with the stretching and massage. Thanks to Sybil's training of course. But it has really helped."

"I'm pleased," Isobel said. "There will be very few with your level of injury able to work as you do." She frowned a little, continuing, "Although I must admit I was worried, even with you being as recovered as you are. I wasn't sure you would manage the full hours. But if you have survived this rather torrid week that bodes well!"

Matthew gave her a wry grin. "I guess it does. And perhaps it's also proof that Sybil is onto something with this different approach to the therapy."

Their conversation reminded him what else he had wanted to talk to his mother about: his upcoming appointment with Dr Jones.

"Is there anything I need to prepare?" he asked. "After waiting for months and months it's suddenly here, and I'm not sure I'm ready!"

"All you need to do, Matthew, is make a list of any questions you have for him," she said reassuringly.

"Which I have started to," Matthew interjected.

Isobel nodded. "Good! While you and Mary were away, Sybil and I did some organising. We've booked a hotel with a suitable room near the hospital in Shepherd's Bush, and Sybil has set up a couple of additional appointments for you. The first one, which is the afternoon we arrive, is with a gentleman who custom-builds medical equipment, including wheelchairs."

"So she found someone," Matthew said, pleased.

"She did. In the end, she got the recommendation through that association of physical therapists she has become involved with," Isobel replied. "And the other appointment is to review your programme. That will be after your appointments with Dr Jones so that what he says can be factored in."

"I don't know how to thank you enough for all of this, Mother," Matthew said, gratefully. "I wouldn't have known where to start. But you and Sybil have just got on and done it all!"

Isobel smiled. "It's our job to do that, my dear," she said reassuringly. "And besides. We both want to see you get as much benefit as you can from this opportunity."

"There is something else I'd like you to organise," Matthew said. "Mary and I decided last night we would like to stay on for the weekend and enjoy a bit of London. We are both keen that you join us! Can you make it work?"

"I would like that very much," Isobel said, genuinely touched by the offer from her son and daughter-in-law. "It will work as I am not on shift that weekend. And it will be very nice to do some sight-seeing. As long as I'm not the spare wheel, of course," her lips twitched.

"Never, Mother!" Matthew laughed. "And I'll be the first to tell you if you are!

"But that does remind me," he went on. "We will need to find somewhere to stay. Neither of us wants to see Grantham House opened for such a short period, and Rosamund's downstairs guest room is not available as she has an American friend staying."

"How about I see if I can add a few nights to our booking," Isobel mused. "That would probably be our most straightforward solution," she paused. "And are you going to visit Reggie Swire? I know he was wanting to see you."

"I am. And perhaps you should come too," Matthew replied.

0-0-0-0-0-0

The Pearson family arrived on foot. Carson, who was watching out for them, saw them hesitating, as if unsure if they should use the servant's entrance or the front door. He alerted Matthew and went outside to greet them.

"Good afternoon. Mrs Pearson, is it?" Carson enquired with a smile. She gave a tight nod, clearly nervous. "A pleasure to meet you. I am Mr Carson, the Butler. Captain Crawley is expecting you. Come this way."

Molly and Ryan looked around in awe as they walked up the darkly panelled entranceway to the great hall with its high windows, artwork and patterned rugs.

"It's like a cathedral," Ryan said, his voice hushed. Something caught his eye, and he gasped excitedly. "Molly! Look at the dog!" and he pulled his sister towards the marble statue of the dog and his master that graced one of the alcoves at the foot of the richly carved wooden staircase.

Molly shook his arm away, taken by the paintings instead. "Mam," she said in a hushed voice. "Look at how the clouds glow!" She walked over to the Turner painting and stared at in in awe.

"It shows great use of colour doesn't it?" said a familiar voice, and she turned to see that Matthew had wheeled quietly up behind her. "Mr Matthew!" she squealed happily and she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him.

Carson couldn't help smiling at her enthusiastic greeting. The tale of Captain Crawley rescuing Molly from the puddle had been much talked about in the village, with Molly herself partly responsible: her stitched knee had attracted many questions from curious children when she returned to school.

"You have so many pretty paintings here," she said to Matthew. "I can see that this one is by Turner, and that one is Monet, but can you tell me who did this one?"

"Yes, that one is Degas, said, Matthew. "The Dancing Class."

"Ohh," Molly sighed. "Look at all the pinks! And how the dancers are moving."

_What an impressive knowledge of art for one so young!_ Matthew thought.

"Do you like to paint Molly?" he asked.

Molly nodded. "I like it very, very much!" she said happily. "Oh, and Mr Matthew," she was suddenly hesitant, "I… I brought a drawing just for you. To say thank you," she finished shyly.

"A drawing you have done yourself?" Matthew said, touched. "That is the very best sort of present I could possibly get. I will very much look forward to seeing it," and he gave her a warm smile.

Matthew realised with a start he hadn't yet greeted Molly's mother and quickly turned to do so. Then he motioned them all through to the drawing room for afternoon tea.

"It is so kind of you to invite us here, Captain Crawley," said Mrs Pearson as she took a seat on the cream and gold brocade sofa. The children sat down beside her, awed into silence by the elegant furniture and ornaments that graced the richly appointed room.

"How about you call me Matthew," he smiled. "I'm only weeks from my discharge now, and it is a real honour for me to be able to meet Jack's family.

"Lady Mary sends her apologies," he continued. "She is dealing with an urgent paperwork query for the army at the hospital." Matthew shook his head. "Between us being away, and her mother falling ill, some of the financial reports hadn't been completed properly."

"Oh dear," Esther replied sympathetically. "I do hope we get to see her." She paused, looking at Matthew, "But if I am to call you Matthew, you must call me Esther."

"Of course," Matthew smiled, and Esther continued.

"I wanted to be able to thank Lady Mary again for the opportunity to make your friend Daisy her dress," she said fervently, adding in a lower voice that not only had she greatly enjoyed it but that it had also meant she could afford Christmas presents for the first time since Jack died.

"Excuse me, Mam," Molly said excitedly, catching her mother's quiet mention of the word 'present'. "I almost forgot! Can I give Mr Matthew his thank you now?"

"Yes, of course!" her mother said straightening up.

Molly opened the leather school satchel she had brought with her and took out a small charcoal drawing. She presented it shyly to Matthew. The drawing showed the village church in the background, and in the foreground, she had drawn herself and Ryan playing 'catch' on the village green. It was beautifully drawn and very realistic.

Matthew whistled. "This is a very, very good picture Molly!" he said genuinely impressed and touched. "I will see about getting it put in a frame for the wall of my office."

"You will put it in a frame?" Molly said delightedly.

"I most certainly will. It will make me very happy to see that picture of you both in the village when I am busy at work!"

Molly beamed, and Ryan looked very impressed. "Mr Matthew," the slight, dark-haired boy asked suddenly. "Do you think Molly might be an artist when she grows up?"

"I think children with talents and the ability to work hard, like I hear the both of you have, can do whatever they set their minds to," Matthew replied firmly. "And if that means Molly being an artist, then absolutely she can. It is lovely what she has drawn for me."

"Wow, Molly!" said Ryan. "An artist. I wonder if I could be a cricket player?"

"You might need to be something else too!" Matthew chuckled. "But tell me, Ryan. Do you like to play cricket?" Ryan's face lit up and he nodded enthusiastically.

"Well then," Matthew replied, "Perhaps after tea, you and I could go outside and you could show me what you can do."

"I'd like that very much, Sir," Ryan beamed.

Matthew turned his attention back to Esther. "Am I correct in understanding that you have moved here from Manchester?" he asked.

"Yes, we are originally from Manchester," Esther answered. "But when Jack died, I couldn't manage the rent on the widow's pension so we came to live here with my sister and her family."

"How are you finding Downton?" Matthew inquired.

"It has been easier for us with the support my sister has been able to give, although we are a little cramped with two families in her small home," Esther said. "That part time job I have managed to get with Mrs Dunne has also helped."

There was a knock at the door, and Carson arrived with the heavily laden tea tray.

Ryan and Molly both gasped in delight, their eyes immediately on the cake stand. Dainty sandwiches were arranged on the top tier, and slices of rich fruit cake, and scones with plum jam and freshly whipped cream graced the remaining tiers.

In addition to the Royal Albert tea service, the tray held a jug of homemade lemonade and some pretty glasses for the two children.

Matthew grinned to himself. Once again his favour with Daisy and Mrs Patmore was paying off: they had put on a delightful spread they knew the children would enjoy.

"Carson, this is wonderful," Matthew said. "Please make sure you personally thank Daisy and Mrs Patmore from me for what they've prepared, I've suddenly got a real appetite!"

Carson smiled and gave him a wink, knowing Matthew's statement was given as an invitation to encourage the children to eat as much as they liked.

Which they both did: When Mrs Pearson started to protest and said "Ryan! That's your third piece!" Matthew raised his eyebrows at her, and said with a slight smile, "It's all right, Esther. I'm sure Mrs Patmore would be disappointed if any food went back to the kitchen!"

Matthew poured the tea and handed Esther a cup, and he started to tell them about Jack, and what it had been like to serve with him. He shared the happy times, and the events that had led to Jack being made a Corporal, where his calmness and coolness when a routine patrol came under fire had helped save lives.

The children had lots of questions, wanting to know what the trenches were like, what they got to eat, and where their Dad would have slept. Ryan wanted to know what it was like to fire a gun and use a bayonet. Matthew answered as lightly as he could, avoiding some of the more gruesome realities Jack and every other soldier at the Front had been forced to deal with day in, and day out.

The children finished eating and Matthew noticed that Ryan was starting to fidget.

He turned to Mrs Pearson. "Esther, there are a few other things I'd like to share with you about Jack, but I think it's time the children got to roam a bit. Would you be comfortable if I got Mr Carson to look after them for a few minutes? And then I will take Ryan outside."

"Of course," she nodded, so Matthew rang the bell.

When Carson arrived, Matthew suggested he might want to show them around, and as the children trooped out, he added in a low voice, "and don't forget to introduce them to Mrs Patmore and Daisy. I'm sure the children would love to thank them in person for the delicious afternoon tea!" Carson gave an approving nod. "Of course, Captain Crawley. Mrs Patmore and Daisy will enjoy that very much!"

"Oh, and when you come back, bring my cricket bat and a ball for Ryan, would you?" Matthew added.

"Very well, Sir," Carson replied, and he followed the children out.

With the children gone, Matthew told Esther a little more about who Jack had been as a soldier, and how in the months before he died he had become more and more recognised for his leadership.

"There were several instances where his actions stood out," Matthew said. "One occasion was when Jack's patrol got sent into a dangerous part of German territory as a result of faulty army intelligence. Somehow he managed to keep them together, and safe, and they managed a quite miraculous escape after three days behind enemy lines." Matthew looked at Esther solemnly. "I recommended after that incident that my CO promote him to Sergeant," he paused and swallowed. "Unfortunately, the day I got word his promotion had been approved was the day that Jack was killed."

A tear rolled down Esther Pearson's cheek. "My Jack, to have been made a Sergeant!" She gave a quiet sob.

"It is possible to obtain a copy of his army file if you would like," said Matthew gently. "I would be happy to inquire on your behalf. They could send you his badge, and the papers approving his promotion."

"I would really appreciate that, thank you Captain... I mean Matthew," she smiled suddenly at her own reluctance to use his first name. "It's not what I would usually do with someone... someone like you from the house," she explained looking a little embarrassed.

"I faced the same challenges once," Matthew smiled. "When I first arrived here from Manchester. I was completely overwhelmed by all the different forms of address and it took me quite a while to get them all sorted!"

"So I'm not the only one!" she laughed, and Matthew was struck at how attractive she was when she was relaxed. How she and Jack would have been a very fine couple.

"And how are the children finding the move?" he asked.

"They have settled relatively well, all things considered," Esther answered. "The villagers are friendly, and we've been very impressed by the school. Molly has had a very good teacher this year, a Miss Bunting."

Esther's face fell, and she said quietly, "I wish I could keep Molly at school. She's been offered a place at the Grammar in Ripon, but I will struggle to keep her there right through. It is very hard without Jack. The part time work I have is not enough to make ends meet."

"I can only imagine," said Matthew gently. He wished Mary hadn't been delayed at the hospital as she had told Matthew that she and Lady Branksome had some ideas to suggest to Esther for some sort of business in ladies fashion: The elegance and fine workmanship of Daisy's dress had not gone unnoticed amongst the ladies who had attended their wedding.

"Esther, about that," Matthew began. "Lady Mary was keen to talk with you about some business ideas for your dressmaking."

Esther was surprised and pleased. "Matthew, how very generous," she said humbly. "I would be honoured to listen to any advice she might give. Lady Mary is greatly admired for her impeccable sense of style."

They made small talk for a while, discussing some of the village happenings, and Esther asked about their honeymoon. Eventually their conversation returned again to the children.

"Molly appears to have a real interest and talent in art," Matthew commented, nodding towards the charcoal sketch propped against the lamp stand on the side table. "I thought I could ask Lady Grantham, if she is available, or Mr Carson if she is not, to show her the art upstairs in Lord Grantham's gallery when I take Ryan outside. Is that something she might like?" he asked.

"She would like that very much indeed," Esther said fervently. She was quiet for a moment, and then she said, "Matthew, you are so very kind to us! And especially to Molly!" she choked.

Matthew paused, taken aback by her reaction. "What is it, Esther? Have things been hard for Molly?" he sensed.

"I was so very grateful for how kind you were to her when she cut her knee," she said, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. "So many people have been rough with her when she has reacted like that to situations... they haven't understood. And it's made things worse."

Matthew looked at her puzzled, and waited for her to go on.

"Molly and Ryan had a younger brother, Peter. When he was three, and Molly was seven, he, he was killed in front of her. Kicked by a horse. In the head! There was a lot of blood. And Molly saw it all."

Matthew gave an involuntary gasp. "Your poor little son. And poor, poor Molly!" He felt a lump come into his throat.

"But instead you held her and soothed her," Esther went on, and a tear ran down her cheek, "and that helped Molly get through it. Do you know, she did stay strong for Dr Clarkson when he stitched her… when she started to get worried that nice nurse,"

"Mrs Bartlet," Matthew interjected.

"Yes, Mrs Bartlet, she said to Molly "now remember all the nice things Captain Crawley said, Molly," and she was able to calm herself down."

Matthew gave her a thoughtful look. "I think," he said slowly, his voice shaking slightly, "that what happened to Molly is a bit like shellshock. I think maybe I saw that was what was happening for her. So I did for her what others, like my mother, have done for me. To help me through it these past months."

Esther looked at him directly then, compassion in her eyes. "You understand her," she breathed. "Because you know what it's like."

Matthew nodded.

They sat in silence for a minute, and then there was a knock at the door. It opened, and Alfred stepped through and to the side at attention. "Captain Crawley, Lady Grantham," he announced formally. Cora walked in smiling.

"Good afternoon, Cora," Matthew greeted her. "Please allow me to introduce Mrs Esther Pearson. Esther's husband Jack was a corporal in my regiment. Esther, this is Lady Grantham."

Esther bowed her head and shook Cora's outstretched hand.

"It is an honour to meet you Lady Grantham," she said politely.

"The honour is all mine, Mrs Pearson," Cora said warmly. "And I have already had the pleasure of meeting your most delightful and extremely well-mannered children!"

Cora's effusive greeting put Esther at ease, and the two women quickly fell into a lively conversation. Matthew poured himself another cup of tea, and sat back, pleased to see Cora making an effort, and so clearly enjoying meeting someone new. _This can only be a good thing_ he thought to himself.

Carson arrived back a little while later with the children. Ryan was proudly carrying Matthew's cricket bat and a red cricket ball.

"Look at this Mam!" he burst out excitedly. "This is a real, proper cricket bat! Look how it's made!"

"That's wonderful Ryan," Esther answered. "And I hear you are going to go outside now and show Mr Matthew what you can do?"

"He is indeed," said Matthew smiling. He looked at Cora. "Cora, Molly is very keen to see some of the paintings here. I wondered if you wouldn't mind showing her about while I take young Ryan outside."

"It would be an honour," Cora said to Molly. "Mr Carson told me that you like to paint. Would you like to see our gallery? I have a della Francesca you might enjoy."

Molly's eyes widened. "You have a real one? A real della Francesca?" she breathed.

"We do, Molly. And how about I show you it first of all," Cora said kindly. "Mrs Pearson, what appeals most to you? The della Francesca, or playing catch out of doors?"

Esther smiled. "I'll come with you if I may, Lady Grantham. It's not just Molly who will enjoy seeing the work of such a famous artist!" The women stood, and Esther and Molly followed Cora out.

Matthew turned to Ryan. "Are you ready to go outside?" he grinned.

"Yes Sir!" Ryan said, and Matthew gestured him to the door.

Mary was walking home from the hospital, enjoying the afternoon sunshine. As she approached the gatehouse, she heard voices and laughter.

Rounding the corner and walking up the drive, she saw Matthew, his shirt sleeves rolled up, and a young boy she recognised from the wedding as Ryan, playing catch together on one of the long paths that led across the garden.

Walking closer, she saw that they were discussing cricket, and the different techniques for bowling and catching the ball. Intrigued, she perched on the edge of one of the garden walls and watched.

Ryan was explaining what the schoolmaster had taught them, and Matthew was adding to it. Mary, listening, realised with some amusement that Matthew didn't think much of the instruction coming from the schoolmaster, but that he was trying as best he could to be diplomatic whilst also giving Ryan quite contrary advice on how the ball should be handled.

Ryan went a distance from Matthew along the path, and Matthew threw the ball at him and he caught it.

"Try the overarm throw I showed you," Matthew called to him.

Ryan readied himself, and lifted his arm, and threw. Matthew caught it deftly.

He shouted out "Ready?" to Ryan, and then gave a powerful throw that Ryan had to run to catch.

"That was a hard one Mr Matthew!" Ryan called back.

"Well give me your best throw in return!" Matthew shouted, and Ryan did.

They continued for a while, and then Ryan gave a wild throw that went well over Matthew's head and towards the other end of the rose garden.

"Uh oh," Ryan shouted and he began to laugh.

"Race you to it!" Matthew shouted back, and with that they were both off. Matthew stopped his chair where the ball had left the path, and Ryan dived past him, shrieking with laughter towards the ball, which had come to rest under a rose push. He crawled out, ball in hand and dirt on his shorts, and stood up beside Matthew. "You're fast," he said admiringly.

"Actually I'm not. I cheated. I had a head start because I was a lot closer," Matthew said breathing hard. "You're the fast one!"

Ryan grinned, still panting. After a minute he said, "Mr Matthew, Molly got a ride in your wheelchair. Would I be allowed one too?"

"Well, if you really want to," replied Matthew. "It's not very exciting, I have to warn you. Not nearly as exciting as a bicycle."

"Molly said it was fun," Ryan said obstinately.

_Only a child could think a wheelchair was fun_, Matthew thought to himself, a little amused. "all right then. Hop on!" and he held the wheels steady.

Ryan scrambled into Matthew's lap. "Can we go fast like you did before?" he asked.

"Well, probably not with two of us. But how about you help me and we might get some speed up," said Matthew, and he turned the chair back in the direction of the driveway and showed him what to do.

They were almost at the end of the path when Matthew finally noticed Mary, perched on the wall. She stood up, and walked towards him smiling.

"Mary!" he said his face lighting up at seeing her. "You finally got away!"

"Yes, in fact I've been sitting here enjoying watching you for a while now. And I see you have someone I need to greet," she said smiling at Ryan.

As if on cue, Ryan scrambled off Matthew's lap, brushed himself down, and wiped his hands on his shorts. Then, with a serious expression, he bowed slightly, put out his hand, and said "Lady Mary, good afternoon."

"Good afternoon, Ryan," Mary said kindly. "I do hope you have been enjoying your time with Mr Matthew."

"Yes, very much! He's given me a ride, and he's been teaching me a new way to bowl, and we've been practising catches as well," he said, his words tumbling out with boyish enthusiasm.

There was a shout from the direction of the house, and they looked up to see Molly skipping towards them. "Ryan!" Molly was calling. "Come here! You have to see this!" she called excitedly. Ryan looked around at Matthew, who gave him a quick nod, "Off you go, we'll follow you all right?" and he raced away towards his sister.

Mary walked alongside Matthew as they made their way back towards the house. "You amaze me how you can catch from your chair, you know," Mary said.

"Well, it helps that Ryan can throw accurately," Matthew replied. "It might have been a bit different if he couldn't!"

"Considering that I have enough trouble catching a ball at all, and you can manage it sitting down, I'm still impressed," Mary countered. "So tell me, how has it been?"

"Very pleasant," Matthew replied. "They are a really lovely family. I can see why Jack was so very proud of them all. And Esther is keen to hear what your ideas were. It does sound like things are very tough for them. That little bit of work she does have is not enough to make ends meet."

"Of course it won't be," Mary said grimly. "And especially not with children to provide for." She thought for a moment "I will see about meeting her in the village perhaps. I'm free on Tuesday, although I'll need a little time to get us packed for the trip of course," she mused partly to herself. "And do tell me, how is Molly?" she turned to look at Matthew.

"Delightful! She drew me a beautiful charcoal sketch to say thank you for helping her out. You know, Mary, whilst I am no artist myself, it seems to me she has a real talent. I couldn't believe how much she knew of the artists whose work we have in the Great Hall." Matthew stopped suddenly. "What is it?" Mary said turning to face him.

"I've got a favour to ask," he answered. "Would you mind if we gave Molly that new box of watercolours you bought? I'll obviously get you another. It's just I would like to do a little something to encourage her with her drawing."

"That's a lovely idea! I think there's a new block of paper there too," Mary said, remembering.

"Thank you my darling. It will mean a lot to her," Matthew said, pleased.

Mary leant down and gave him an impulsive kiss. "What was that for?" he asked.

"Seeing you enjoying yourself," she answered, smiling. "Especially after our rather trying week."

He took her hand and kissed it, and then he held it against his cheek. Mary hummed with contentment. When they arrived back at the house a few minutes later, they found Esther in an animated conversation with Cora, discussing some of the artwork they had seen. Molly, meanwhile, was trying to interest her clearly disinterested brother in the background story to the Turner painting that had taken her fancy.

Ryan nudged his sister when he saw Mary come in. "Say hello to the lady," he whispered in her ear.

Molly quickly turned and gave a little curtsy. "Good afternoon Lady Mary," she said shyly.

"Hello Molly," Mary said warmly. "It is lovely to see you again. I am glad we could have you and Ryan and your mother here for tea at long last."

Molly smiled. "I liked it very much Lady Mary. Mr Matthew has been very kind. And Lady Grantham and Mr Carson too," she finished.

Mary greeted Mrs Pearson, and then turned back to Molly, aware the young girl's eyes were still on her.

"Mr Matthew tells me you like to draw," Mary said. "I'd like to hear more about that. And the sorts of paintings you like. And I do hope Lady Grantham managed to show you a good range of what we've got here."

"Lady Grantham showed me lots and lots," she said her eyes lighting up when she realised that Mary was genuinely interested. "My favourite is the Monet and the Haystacks. It has such lovely hot colours. I wish I could learn how to make things glow with the paint like he does."

"It is very clever how that is done," Mary agreed. I think it's a technique that uses light brush strokes, called impressionist painting," she explained. "And of course it is also about the types of colours he mixes too."

Molly talked animatedly with her for quite some time. When Mary asked whether she'd visited many art galleries, curious to understand where she'd gained her considerable knowledge of European and English artists, Molly replied that she had learned most of what she knew from the city gallery in Manchester and the art books she had found in the library there.

"It's been a bit harder in Downton," she said her face a little more solemn. "The library we have at school only has two books about art," she explained.

"I can imagine," Mary said, nodding. "It is one of the disadvantages of a small village compared to a big city like Manchester where you were before."

The grandfather clocked began to chime for five o'clock, momentarily silencing them all. Esther cleared her throat. "I'm sorry, children, but it's time we were going home. I've got to prepare the meal tonight as Aunt Betty is out looking after your baby cousin Tom until late."

Both the children looked disappointed, but they wordlessly began to gather up their belongings. Matthew flashed Mary a look, and she turned and went quickly to the library to fetch the box of paints for Molly.

"I can't thank you enough for such a lovely afternoon," Esther said smiling at Matthew and Cora. "And Mr Carson too!" she turned to him gratefully.

"It's been our pleasure," Matthew said.

"And we would love to see you all here again soon," Cora added.

Mary returned then, and Matthew addressed the children.

"Ryan, how about you take my cricket bat and the ball with you, so you can use them for your practice," he said.

"But Mr Matthew, it is your special bat!" said Ryan. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm very sure," said Matthew. "I have no need of it now! Look after it, and it will serve you well."

Ryan beamed.

"And Molly, my dear," Matthew continued. "Mary and I have a little something for you to help you with your art."

Mary handed her the box of watercolours and the block of snowy white paper. "It is wonderful to see a young woman so interested in painting and drawing," she said. "Art is something I've always enjoyed, and both of us will look forward very much to seeing more of what you create."

Molly was overcome. She couldn't speak for a minute, and then she said breathlessly, "Thank you so much Mr Matthew, Lady Mary... this is very, very special!" She beamed all the way out to the front door, and when it came time to say goodbye, she threw her arms around Matthew and hugged him tightly.

Mary watched her mother out of the corner of her eye. Cora was wiping a tear away with her handkerchief.

Molly stood back, still smiling, and Matthew said gently, "We'll see you here again soon, Molly," and the children waved and set off into the dusk with their mother.

0-0-0-0-0-0

There was laughter at dinner that night for the first time in more than a week. Having the Pearson family to visit had done wonders for both upstairs and down. Alfred and Carson had smiles on their faces when they served, and Cora was relaxed and talkative.

"You gave those two children a delightful time today, Matthew!" she said. "You are so very good with them. Far more natural than Robert ever was," she said, an edge of bitterness creeping into her voice. She paused, and then forcing herself to smile again, she went on. "Molly clearly thinks the world of you. She would not stop talking about you when I was showing her the paintings! And you made that little lads day, giving him your cricket bat."

"Thank you, Cora," Matthew said. "They are very easy children to like!"

"They are lucky to have you taking an interest," Cora continued. "Especially with their father gone," she paused suddenly, looking at Matthew with a strange expression on her face. _It's as though she wants to say something else_ Mary thought. _I bet it's about us not being able to have children_, she surmised with a pang. Cora seemed to reconsider. She gave herself a shake and changed the subject.

"Esther Pearson is a very interesting woman," she remarked. "I was surprised at her considerable knowledge of the art world, and she certainly has a flair for fashion. That dress she was wearing – whilst the material was not of quality, the design was exquisite. And she told me she designed it herself!"

"She and Jack were both educated," Matthew said quietly. "Grammar schools. And Jack was a clerk in a printing firm in Manchester before the war. I expect he would have ended up a manager there, had he lived." He swallowed and looked away, and Mary instinctively put her hand on his under the table.

"And now she is struggling to make ends meet. Like so many other war widows," Cora said frowning. "There must be some way she can be better employed with that talent than just helping at the haberdashery."

"Our sentiments exactly, Mama," Mary replied. "Matthew and I have discussed a few ideas, and I arranged with Esther today to meet her for tea in the village on Tuesday morning." She paused for a minute, looking at her mother thoughtfully. "Mama, would you like to come?"

"I would, my dear," Cora answered unexpectedly. "I like the idea of helping a war widow. And this talk of clothing design has reminded me of a conversation I overheard at one of my recent committee meetings: three of the ladies were lamenting how little choice there was in designer dressmakers up our way: whilst some women will always prefer to go to London for the very best, there is a group out there who would gladly avoid the travel and support someone of good repute within North Yorkshire."

Matthew and Mary were both staring at Cora intently.

"Are you saying there are not the people out there already offering such services?" Mary asked.

"Well, I'm only going on what I heard. But the ones who were talking had lost their preferred local person to the war. In their cases they were men, you see," she explained.

"And yet it is one field of work where being a woman is acceptable," Mary observed. She smiled at her mother. "I'm glad you would like to come, Mama. You have good ideas, and your committee networks could well end up being a source of clients for Esther if she decides a business is what she wants to pursue."

0-0-0-0-0-0

Mary was quiet as she finished readying herself for bed that night. Anna had left and Matthew was leaning back against the pillows reading the latest edition of the _Law Quarterly Review_. He looked up and put it aside when Mary sat down in front of her dressing table and began to unpin her hair. Knowing it was something he liked to watch, she had taken to unpinning and brushing her hair out herself of late.

"Mary," he said softly. "Would I be allowed to brush your hair one time?"

She turned to look at him, and gave a small smile.

"How about tonight?" and she stood up and walked across to him, her silk gown flowing about her and accentuating her curves in a most alluring fashion. She handed him the brush and sat down on the edge of the bed.

"What's on your mind?" he said as he began taking the long brush strokes needed to get through Mary's waist length dark brown hair.

"Just humbled, once again, by the warm and generous man I'm so very lucky to call my husband," she said softly, recalling the happy faces from the afternoon. "You gave them all such a wonderful treat."

"It was very nice to spend time with them finally," Matthew agreed. "And to be able to talk with them about Jack."

"Mama was right, you know," Mary said. "Those two children adore you! I loved watching you play with Ryan. You will make such a wonderful father you know."

"I did enjoy it," Matthew admitted. "And I like that I can be a father figure to them with Jack gone."

Mary sniffed. "It made me think about us… and…" her eyes filled with tears.

Matthew stopped brushing her hair. 'Mary?" he said gently. "What is it?"

"Matthew…" Mary said tremulously. "It's just seeing you playing so naturally and happily with Ryan made me realise how desperate I am to have **your** children," and she began to cry.

Matthew sighed, and he pulled her back against him and kissed the top of her head. There was nothing he could say. It was the most painful reality of their marriage. That he couldn't give her children. It was a reality that would continue to be hard for both of them to accept.

"I'm sorry," Mary whispered, when at last her crying eased.

"Don't be. I'd much rather you were honest about it," Matthew said kissing her forehead again. "It's the part about my injury that I find the hardest to deal with too."

He was silent a moment, and then he said, "Mary, maybe we can. I mean, you know... with what has happened lately." Despite her upset, Mary giggled slightly and Matthew had to smile too. "You are the one who keeps saying the doctors might be wrong," he added. "I am definitely going to ask Dr Jones about it when we see him this week."

"Mmm," Mary sniffed.

Matthew was quiet for a moment, and then he said, "And besides. I know it's not quite the same. But I'm sure you and I could fall in love with any child we adopt. So if that is our only option, and if you want to, adoption is something we can do."

Mary nodded. "I do want to," she whispered. "Like we've discussed. Perhaps not straight away! But I really do want you to have the enjoyment of being a father," she said turning in his arms to look up at him. "And with you in my life, I'm sure I'll somehow cope with being a mother."

Matthew had to chuckle at that, and then she laughed too, and they held each other for a long time before Mary finally sat up again and allowed Matthew to resume brushing her hair.

0-0-0-0-0-0

In Mary's dream, someone was knocking. An insistent knocking that kept getting louder. Roused from sleep, she felt Matthew stir beside her. No, it wasn't a dream. Someone was knocking on the door. She sat up, and reached for her robe.

"Mary? Who on earth…?" Matthew said confused. "What time is it?" he sat up and pulled himself back against the pillows. Mary was already out of bed, tying on her robe.

"I'll get the door," she answered and she disappeared. Matthew turned on the bedside lamp and checked the clock. It was just after midnight. He heard voices, and then a few seconds later, Mary returned with Sergeant Barrow directly behind her, also in his gown

"Sir," he said immediately. "I've had a call. I know where Lord Grantham is. And I thought it best I tell you now in case you want to get the dawn train and pay him a visit."

"Thank god," Matthew breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you so much for this Sergeant. Would you mind readying some things now so we're organised for the early start? And alert the others too. They'll need to be ready as well."

"Now?" Sergeant Barrow raised his eyebrows a little uncertainly.

"Yes, now." Matthew said firmly. "Thank you Sergeant. And try and get a little sleep once you've finished," he finished a little more kindly.

"You've found Papa?" Mary said climbing out of bed after Barrow had left and going to stoke the fire.

Matthew nodded. "We have, thanks to the Sergeant. Quite a bit has come to light since I talked with him yesterday," he said grimly. "But on a positive note, it's meant we've finally been able to confirm Robert's whereabouts."

"Should I be coming with you?" Mary asked, rinsing her hands at the sink. She dried them and climbed back into bed.

Matthew shook his head. "You need to stay with Cora. I have a sense she will want your support, once I've managed to find out from Robert what on earth is going on."

"I suspect that you are right," Mary answered. "You will call as soon as you know, won't you?"

"I will indeed." Matthew answered. He turned off the lamp, and they both lay back reclining against the pillows in comfortable silence. Neither of them wanted to talk. It was enough just to know Robert had been found, and that Matthew would be going to him on the morrow.

The room felt deliciously warm, and the glow from the freshly stoked coals lit up their faces. Impulsively, Matthew sat up. He unbuttoned his pyjama top and took it off, wanting to feel the heat of the fire against his skin. He sat back, enjoying it. Ever since his injury, he had found his experience of such sensory pleasures had considerably heightened. He had supposed once, that perhaps it was his body's way of compensating for some of what it had lost.

He reached across for Mary's hand and turned it over, tracing his fingers in gentle circles about her soft palm. Another sensory pleasure. He hummed and his pulse began to quicken.

Mary looked sideways at him, her eyes shining. Oh, God, she loved it when he took his shirt off. Loved his manliness. She studied him, his body that was so changed from before the war. Lithe. And chiselled. She could see the outline of each and every muscle across his chest and shoulders. Heavily scarred. But she realised then, with a start, that she no longer saw his scars when she looked at him. She just saw Matthew.

Matthew reached up and pushed his hair back from his face. And oh my, he was so damn graceful. Her body tingled. She remembered the first time they danced. She had never known a man to move so beautifully. And here he was, still graceful. In spite of everything.

She was panting slightly now, her body hungry for him. Wordlessly, she sat up and took off her nightgown. Fixing her eyes on his, she positioned herself across his lap. Cupping his face gently in her hands, she began to kiss him very softly and deliberately.

Her desire for him was intoxicating. Matthew broke out into a sweat. He growled and seized her bottom, pulling her tightly against him, delighting in the feel of her soft skin and round breasts pressing into his chest. She moaned with pleasure and rolled over with him on top of her then, and the two of them wrestled with his pyjama pants to get them off, giggling as the task proved trickier than it needed, simply because neither would let the other go. Pants out of the way, they began to move against each other, their bodies hot and slick, their kissing more and more frantic. Their lovemaking was rough and needy. Mary felt him hardening against her, heightening her own excitement. She grasped his hips, pulling him even more tightly to her centre and he shuddered and murmured in delight. The warmth and weight of him against her made her crazy, and when she went over the edge shrieking, her body arching and bucking, her hands were clutching his hair so tight it was almost painful. Spent, she lay still under him, twitching a little and breathing hard.

"Let go of my hair," Matthew demanded softly.

"Sorry," she murmured, releasing his silky blond locks from her hands. "Too busy devouring you."

"I noticed," he whispered, pushing himself up on his elbows to look at her. "Was it good?"

Mary snorted. "Good?" She gazed up at him, her eyes smouldering. "It was heavenly," she said softly. "How about you. Do you want any thing else? She ran a finger seductively across her mouth and flicked her eyes down his body.

He grinned and kissed her forehead. "No. This has been fun enough," he answered, groaning slightly as he rolled off her. He positioned himself on his side, his head resting on his elbow. "But you could kiss me again," he breathed, eyeing her rosebud lips. Smiling, Mary turned to him and gladly obliged.

0-0-0-0-0-0

"Captain Crawley! What a surprise," Bates said with a polite smile, having been informed by a manservant that there was a gentleman in the entrance asking for him.

Matthew saw immediately that Bates really wasn't surprised to see Matthew here in the lobby of the ornately appointed Trumps gentlemen's club. I_ bet he's wondering why it has taken us quite so long to find them,_ he thought amusedly.

"I'm here to see Lord Grantham," Matthew replied. "If you could ask him to come downstairs please, I've booked one of the lounges here."

"Of course, Sir," Bates answered. He turned around and limped back up the carved wooden stairs. It was more than five minutes before he returned, alone.

"I'm very sorry Captain Crawley," he said looking a little uncomfortable. "Lord Grantham says he is indisposed and unable to see you."

"Very well Bates," Matthew said pleasantly. "You can tell Lord Grantham that I will wait for him right here in the lobby until he is able to have an audience with me. All day. And in fact, all night if that is necessary."

Bates had to suppress a smile at the younger man's determination.

"Very well Sir. I will give him your message," and he disappeared upstairs again.

As Matthew had confidently predicted, Bates returned a few minutes later, closely followed by an angry Robert, who strode down the stairs clearly put out. "Matthew!" He hissed. "Just what do you think you are playing at?"

"I think I'm the one who needs to be asking you that, Robert," Matthew said a little grimly. "If you don't mind, how about we save the talk until we are inside of the lounge," and he gestured Robert to the doorway off the lobby opposite.

Robert huffed. He looked angrily from Bates to Matthew and back again. Finally with an exasperated noise, he stalked across the lobby and opened the door.

Matthew nodded at Bates to make it clear he needed to speak to Robert alone, and followed him in. He spun his chair around and shut the door firmly behind them.

"Why are you here?" Robert demanded, pacing in front of the crackling fire.

"I am here because you owe your family an explanation Robert," Matthew said evenly, wheeling his chair deftly across to where Robert stood. "And also because I am party to some information that may assist you in finding a way out of your current predicament."

"I don't owe you an explanation!" Robert said hotly. "I have business here I have to attend to, and when that is done I will return home!"

"For god's sake, Robert," Matthew said exasperatedly. "You've been gone more than a week with not a word! Your wife is distraught! And you damn well need to hear me out! I have information I believe will help!"

"I have no interest in what you might have Matthew," Robert raged. "You had no right to follow me here! Now if you don't mind, I would like you to go," and Robert began to walk back towards the door.

Someone else spoke then, in a loud and imperious voice and Robert froze.

"You may think you can brush your son-in-law off, and I must say I am disgusted at you for it," thundered the voice. "But you wouldn't dare brush me off, would you?" And Robert stared in shock as Violet pushed herself up from her seat in the corner and walked towards him, fury on her face. She lifted her stick and waved it at him.

"Sit Robert. Now," she said coldly. "It's time we all had a nice little talk." And stunned into submission, Robert sat.


	37. Chapter 37

"So Jane was tricked," Violet said grimly. "And then she paid for her loyalty to you by being brutally raped."

Robert flinched, his eyes full of remorse. He nodded sadly at his mother.

"And the identity of this thug?" she continued, her voice hard.

"She thought he said Greer or Green or something," Robert's voice was pained.

"And it was after this that you hired the Private Investigator?" Matthew said bluntly.

Robert nodded. "I knew then we'd been set up."

"Tell me, Robert," Matthew said, unable to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. "Just whose advice did you take when you went to this gentleman?"

"That chap at my club I've been urging you to meet," Robert retorted. "The one who has been talking to me about the Ponzi investment opportunity."

"Robert. Why on earth could you have possibly thought an investment advisor could recommend you a PI?" Matthew's sarcasm was giving way to anger now.

"He was divorced, Matthew," Robert burst out. "He rated the gentleman because he saw to it things were handled discreetly. And I was looking for discretion!"

"And you got the opposite!" Matthew shouted in frustration. "You hired the very man Carlisle has been using to track you for months!

"Why the hell didn't you go to Murray, or to me, or just any proper high street lawyer?" Matthew demanded banging his fist down on the armrest of his chair.

Robert said nothing. He stared at Matthew, his jaw set defiantly.

Violet cleared her throat. "Matthew," she began tightly, "Perhaps…"

"I'm sorry cousin Violet. I shouldn't have sworn," Matthew took a deep breath and tried to quell his anger.

"Do not apologise, my dear," Violet rolled her eyes. "I can assure you that at my age I have already heard every expletive the English language could possibly offer.

"What I was about to say, is surely we might use this rather unfortunate situation with this investigator to our advantage."

Robert and Matthew stared at her. "How?" Matthew frowned. "God only knows what the chap has fed to Carlisle already!"

"Finding out exactly what he has been fed will be one of our conditions," Violet said firmly. "If my hunch is correct, what I have in mind will allow us to turn the tables on this situation." She leaned forward in her chair and began to explain her idea.

0-0-0-0-0-0

"Excuse me, Mrs Crawley," Molesley entered the sitting room where Isobel was at the bureau writing a letter to her cousin. "There is a telephone call for you. It's Captain Crawley."

"Thank you, Molesley," Isobel got up and hurried to the telephone in the hall.

"Yes, my dear," she began. "Have you found him?"

"We have. I am taking a break so that Violet can speak with him alone about Cora. It has been rather tense, as you can imagine." He paused, wondering how to put what he wanted to say. "Mother, I have a favour to ask."

"Go on," Isobel replied.

"Could you find out if Major Clarkson had autopsies taken when the maids died?"

"Of course I can. But why?"

Matthew didn't answer directly. Instead, he said, "We need to confirm if indeed it was the 'flu that killed Jane… and not something else."

There was a silence on the telephone line. "This is a very strange request, Matthew," Isobel's voice was strained. She shivered, remembering Cora's fear that Robert might have hurt Jane.

"It wasn't Robert," Matthew said hastily. "But the answer might still matter. Can you… ask?"

"I'll see what I can do. Where can I reach you?"

"Trumps," Matthew replied, and he gave her the instructions she would need for the operator. "I'll be here some hours yet," he added. "There's quite a bit more to talk about before we can return home."

0-0-0-0-0-0

Muttering she needed some air after Branson dropped them off at the front door, Sybil left her mother and sisters and walked seemingly towards the rose garden. When she walked past the first hedge she knew screened her from the Abbey's entrance, she changed direction and headed quickly to the garage.

Tom was shutting the door as she arrived, having parked the motor inside after bringing Lady Grantham and her daughters back from church.

Oh, hello!" he tipped his cap and gave her a delighted grin. "Long time no see!"

She gave a snicker. "I wanted to talk. See how you were, getting ready for your interview tomorrow."

"As ready as I'll ever be, I guess," he said easily. "I have good marks from the course I did, and some favourable references from the papers I've sent items to. Can't do much more than that!"

"I suppose not," Sybil mused. She looked at him, her face becoming serious. "Mary says that Matthew has found Papa. He should be with him now."

"That's good. So the early start was worth it," Branson replied.

"Well if he has found him and… Tom, did you get permission for this interview? I mean, Mama wouldn't even notice, but Papa…" Sybil continued her face still serious.

"Are you worried Lord Grantham might suddenly reappear and find his Chauffeur has sloped off to London for a day, unannounced?" Tom's face broke into a smile.

"Perhaps," admitted Sybil.

Tom chuckled. "It's all been done properly. I got your father's permission a few weeks ago. Lord Grantham supported me doing the course all along," he reassured her. "His only stipulation is that I train up the next Chauffeur before I go off and leave him in the lurch."

Sybil gave a sigh of relief. "Well good for you! I feel so much better! Just don't want to give him any reason… you know."

"Of course not," Tom said reassuringly. "So you'll talk to Mary when you're in London?" Sybil nodded. "I will. And thank you for giving Matthew a heads up. I'm sure he'll bring Mary around if she needs it!"

They stared at each other in silence for a minute. Tom pursed his lips. "It could be quite a week for us, you know." He took her hand. "I'll bet that Doctor will have a job for you."

"I wouldn't be so certain," Sybil scoffed. "He only wants to talk with me about the trial. He hasn't been advertising for physical therapists. I know because I have been looking!"

"I think you might be surprised," Tom grinned. "You're far better at what you do than you realise."

"You're just biased," Sybil smirked.

"With good reason," he smiled. He took her other hand then, and pulled her to him. He kissed her, a chaste kiss on her full red lips. He pulled back and lifted his blue eyes to meet hers. "With very good reason," he breathed.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Violet, Robert and Matthew were just finishing luncheon in the Trumps dining room when a waiter approached their table. "A telephone call for you Mr Crawley," he said politely. Matthew looked up. "Thank you," he said to the waiter. "Do excuse me, Robert, cousin Violet. Shall I see you back in the lounge in a few minutes?" They both nodded, and Matthew followed the waiter out to the telephone in the alcove in the lobby.

"It was definitely influenza," Isobel said immediately Matthew took the call. "He had taken particular note of her case, as the cyanosis was very pronounced. A textbook case of Spanish 'flu apparently," she paused. "Oh, and Matthew, he did tell me something else."

"Yes, Mother?" Matthew asked, instantly alert.

"He mentioned that he had seen her a few days prior for another matter. He wouldn't divulge what that was, of course, but he seemed quite insistent in assuring me that she had been well on the mend from whatever it was."

"Thank you for this, Mother," Matthew said, relieved. "I have a sense this information is going to help." Isobel didn't press him any further. Instead, she asked, "Are you any clearer when you might be coming back?"

"There's a bit more to sort. But hopefully, it will be the five o'clock train."

Robert and Violet had only just reached the lounge themselves when Matthew joined them.

"Who was that on the telephone?" Robert asked.

"It doesn't matter," Matthew said evenly. "But I learned something that might put your mind a little more at rest," he said looking at Robert with a serious expression. "It is without a doubt that it was Spanish 'flu that killed Jane."

Robert looked puzzled. "How can you be so sure? That maid, the one I overheard, she was saying how desperately ill Jane was!"

"What maid?" Matthew asked instantly alert. "You've not said anything before about a maid."

"I don't know… one of them," Robert said impatiently. "I saw her uniform, but not her face. I overheard her on the telephone."

"So Jane herself never said anything to you following her procedure?" Violet enquired, frowning.

"No, of course not! That was part of what we agreed! It was supposed to be over!" Robert said in exasperation.

Violet and Matthew glanced at each other.

"And when was it you heard this conversation?" Matthew continued.

"It was the day before Cora was taken ill. Before they were all taken ill. They all came down at once if you remember," Robert replied. "I'd been downstairs looking for Carson. Mrs Hughes asked me to wait. And that's when I overheard her."

"Hmm," Matthew frowned at Robert. "Robert. Did it ever occur to you the maid might have been lying?"

"No. Why?"

"Well, Jane had her procedure a good ten days before this so-called telephone conversation. In the normal course of things, any surgical complication would have presented a lot earlier."

Robert stared at him, his face suddenly white. He sank down and put his face in his hands.

"So I was tricked not once but twice!" he said shocked. "And if I had realised, I wouldn't have gone and ended up upsetting Cora unnecessarily, and none of this would have had to happen!" he finished bitterly. He stood and started to pace, clenching his fists.

"I wouldn't go quite that far," Violet said coldly. "There is little to excuse your behaviour, Robert! And furthermore, I am sure the detestable gentleman we believe is behind all of this surveillance and meddling would have made it his business to have Cora find out anyway!"

Matthew watched Robert distractedly pacing the room. He felt sorry for the older man. Whilst he himself found the very idea abhorrent, affairs between masters and their servants were hardly unusual. And Robert had been honourable enough to admit to them both that he had been the instigator, not Jane and that they should not think badly of the young woman who was now deceased.

But hapless Robert had been caught out by the cunning of Sir Richard Carlisle and his henchman, who had seen, through some well-executed trickery, that the illicit relationship continue. And now there was a very real danger that Robert's clumsy attempts to fix the situation may have significantly worsened it.

_And is it a henchman we are talking about?_ Matthew thought suddenly. _Or is this a case of a henchwoman doing Carlisle's dirty work?_ Regardless, they could now only hope that Violet's scheme to turn the tables could work. If it did secure the leverage needed with the Private Investigator concerned, a reversal of at least some of the damage done might be possible.

"Robert," he said at last. "I need to call Charles for some advice. And after that, the three of us should take stock of where we have got to, and plan out exactly what needs to happen next. How about we all do that over a drink. I think I need one after all this."

"A drink?" Robert said. "What a good idea," and he almost managed a smile. He stood up and he and Matthew left the room: Matthew to the telephone, and Robert to find a manservant.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Matthew and Sergeant Barrow arrived home shortly after nine o'clock. Mary met them at the front door, and saw immediately that both of them were exhausted. She bit back the questions she was desperate to ask, and instead said crisply, "Mrs Patmore has dinner set aside. Barrow, go now and have yours, and ask Alfred to bring Captain Crawley's meal up to our suite immediately."

Barrow gave her a curt nod and disappeared through the door to the servant's stairway.

"Isobel is here," said Mary a little while later, when Matthew had returned to their bedroom after freshening up.

"Oh," Matthew replied, thinking vaguely why on earth, at this time on a Sunday night, but he was too tired to put the question into words. But when the two of them went through to the sitting room a few minutes later and he saw the pensive look on his mother's face, he knew straight away.

"Evelyn," he said tightly, his stomach clenching in fear. "Has he…" he didn't want to say it, couldn't even think it.

"He is alive my dear," Isobel said quickly, seeing where her son's mind was going. "But he is not at all well. They had to operate yesterday. He's lost more of his leg."

"Is he going to be all right?" he forced out.

"It's not certain, Matthew," Isobel said, her face solemn. She took his hand. "We'll have to pray for him."

Matthew stared at her, and then he looked away. All of a sudden he was furious. Outraged at the unfairness of it all. He had just spent a day fighting fires he shouldn't have had to fight, thanks to his foolish cousin and the vengeful Richard Carlisle. And meanwhile, his friend, who put the needs of others ahead of himself time and time again, was now fighting for his life.

Why Evelyn? Why wasn't it Carlisle lying there in pain and having to battle to stay alive instead? He wanted to hit something. An image of Carlisle's smirking face came to mind and he clenched his fists. If only he were visiting his prison cell now. The pleasure he would take in giving the bastard a black eye.

Isobel and Mary were looking at him, stricken-faced. Isobel kept her hand on his. She could feel his rage. Mary was blinking back tears, and Matthew realised then that she, too, must have only just found out. The sadness on her face tempered his rage somehow. He took a deep breath and tried to calm down. None of them spoke.

There was a knock at the door, and Alfred entered carrying a tray. "Your dinner, Captain Crawley," he said politely. He placed the tray on the table and with practised ease, laid the dishes out and set a place for Matthew. His task completed, he looked around nervously, sensing the distress in the room.

_Offer them tea_, he heard his mother words. _Tea always helps when people are upset._ Forcing a cheerful smile, he asked gently, "Lady Mary, Mrs Crawley. Would you like me to bring you some tea?"

"That would be lovely thank you, Alfred," Isobel said, grateful for young man's perceptiveness. She stood and excused herself and walked across to the French windows, saying she wanted to take a moment to get some air. She had grown very fond of Evelyn in the months he had been convalescing, and the pain she felt at him being so unwell ran deep.

"Captain Crawley, may I pour you a drink to accompany your meal?" Alfred turned to Matthew. His solicitous enquiry calmed Matthew further. He sighed and said, "Yes thank you, Alfred. Would you mind pouring me a glass of claret? There's a bottle on the sideboard. And you had better pour me a glass of water too or Sergeant Barrow will have my hide."

"Very well, Sir," Alfred's lips twitched slightly, and he busied himself preparing the drinks. After Alfred left to fetch the tea, Matthew looked at his wife. He held his arms out, and Mary stood wordlessly and let him pull her into his lap. They held each other tightly until they heard Isobel coming back from the terrace. Mary swallowed and quickly wiped her eyes. She stood up, and said shakily, "Matthew, don't let your dinner get cold."

Over his dinner, Matthew explained a little of what they had found out, staying clear of the more sensitive topics that Cora needed to hear about from Robert first.

"So by the sounds, Robert does have some half-plausible explanation for what has transpired," Isobel ventured.

Matthew nodded. "He's not faultless by any means. But there are some extenuating circumstances, which might make it a little easier for Cora in coming to terms with what took place. Violet is hoping she can convince Robert to come back with her tomorrow afternoon. I doubt it's going to be easy, but if he is back, at least there is the opportunity for them to talk."

"Here's hoping, for Mama's sake," Mary said grimly. "They'll fight like cats and dogs of course, but it will be far easier for her than the terrible time she has had not knowing where he is." They conversed a while longer, and then Isobel bade them both good night, and Mary rang the bell for Anna and Barrow.

Mary had been hoping to get more of the story from Matthew when they were both in bed, but when she finally climbed in, having had Anna braid her hair in the dressing room, Matthew was already fast asleep. It was no wonder, she thought grimly. The very early start, and then what was no doubt a long and difficult day dealing with her irascible father. Not to mention the travel! Her questions would have to wait until the morning.

0-0-0-0-0-0

"Mary," Matthew shook her gently.

"Mmm?" she said, still half asleep.

"Organise breakfast for us here. We need to talk before I leave for work."

She opened her eyes then and looked at him. He was up and dressed in his undershirt and knickerbockers. "Where are you going?" she said, confused.

"My session with Sybil," he reminded her. "I'll see you at breakfast."

"Oh," she remembered. Of course. That was why he was in his gym clothes. He left, and Mary shut her eyes again, hoping to go back to sleep. But she couldn't. The events of the previous day began to play over and over in her mind. She hoped that her father would be back: with her, Sybil and Matthew scheduled to be in London from Wednesday, and Edith busy with the convalescent home, she worried for her mother if the uncertainty dragged on any longer.

With a pang, she remembered Isobel's news of Evelyn, and she wondered what to do. _We have to see him before we go_, she thought. _He's going to need all the support and encouragement he can get! _Sleep no longer possible, she sat up and rang for Anna, deciding that a quick walk before breakfast might do her good.

Mary was just sitting down to breakfast and had poured herself a cup of tea when Matthew joined her in their sitting room. He was dressed for work, his neatly combed hair still wet from the shower, and considering the long day before, he looked surprisingly refreshed.

"A good session was it?" Mary said smiling.

"It was indeed," he said with a grin, drawing his wheelchair up to the table opposite her. "She set it all up outside. And it's such a nice morning."

"It is," Mary agreed. "I managed to get out for a short walk too."

She took the cover off the dish on the table and served them both plates of the fragrant kedgeree that Alfred had brought in a few minutes earlier.

They ate in silence for a while, and then Mary said, "My darling, you don't have long. What else did you find out yesterday?"

Matthew finished his mouthful and put down his fork. "It is as we thought," he said solemnly. "Your father did continue his affair with Jane. In short, he allowed himself to be tricked into it continuing. And unfortunately where it all ended up was with some awful consequences for Jane." Matthew's face darkened as he recounted the story of Jane's assault: how she had been lured to a hotel expecting to find Robert, only to be met by another man who had then attempted to blackmail her. "When she refused to cooperate, he… raped her," Matthew bit out.

Mary gasped and looked at him shocked. "The termination. Was that…?"

"I'm afraid so," Matthew said grimly.

"Poor Jane! As much as I am angry with her for the whole situation, she paid a terrible price!" Mary shuddered, not daring to imagine how frightened she must have felt.

"She did," Matthew said heavily. I can't bear to think how awful it would have been for her."

Mary frowned. "How did Jane get away?" she asked. Matthew explained how Jane had told Robert she had managed to escape after somehow loosening the scarf from around her mouth enough to scream for help: her screams had attracted the attention of a hotel porter who, most fortuitously, was just passing by their door. His knocking and insistence on the door being opened had been enough to force the man holding her to flee.

"But how did he get away if the Porter knew he was there?" Mary asked, mystified.

"He appears to have got out via the fire escape," Matthew said grimly. "It leads into an alley apparently, but by the time the hotel staff went to check, he had disappeared."

"And then she rang for Papa, rather than the police," finished Mary.

Matthew nodded. "Yes. Throughout this whole torrid episode, she kept loyal to your father."

Mary was quiet for a moment. Against her own better judgement she felt a grudging admiration for the woman who had betrayed her mother yet showed loyalty to her father at extreme personal risk. "You said both of them had been tricked," Mary questioned. "How did it happen for Papa?"

"Forged notes. Just like Jane! Robert showed me them. They are identical to the notes Jane had professing to be from Robert. Typed messages with a forged signature: Whilst the signatures are quite good likenesses, when you look at them side by side, it becomes obvious they were both made by the same hand."

"And the upshot of these notes was that both thought the other was the one wanting to continue the liaison," Mary commented. "Until the meeting that wasn't."

"Yes. That's when it all came unstuck," Matthew said. "Apparently he tried to first convince, then force her into spying on Robert. When she continued to refuse, he punished her with the rape."

"But that didn't work either because she got Papa to come to her rescue!" Mary countered.

"Exactly. Except that the manipulation continued. Someone took that photograph of your father and Jane leaving the hotel together. And someone found out about the termination and made a copy of that bill! I imagine it was all to try and rescue the situation, through making what had happened appear to be Robert's doing."

Matthew was quiet for a moment, and then he picked up his knife and fork and took a few more mouthfuls of his kedgeree.

Mary waited until he had finished eating. "The one piece of the puzzle I still don't understand is why Papa thought he was responsible for Jane's death. What did you find out about that?"

"Robert said he had overheard a maid talking about Jane and making out that she was desperately ill. It was the day before she came down with the 'flu."

"A maid?" Mary said sharply. "Which one?"

"Robert doesn't know. He didn't see her. Just heard her. It worries me, Mary. I'm starting to think that whomever that person is, might end up being our spy, or somehow associated with our spy."

"Yet none of the names you gave me included any of our maids," Mary said.

"So far," Matthew countered. "But Charles told me yesterday he had found someone else with knowledge of Carlisle's associates. With a bit of luck, we might hear some more names today. If we do, I'll call you."

"Yes, please do," said Mary worriedly. "If it is a maid, we need to know as soon as possible, because they could be up to no good as we speak!"

The clock on the mantelpiece struck signalling the half hour, and Matthew started suddenly and pushed the remainder of his breakfast away. "I need to get going. I've got that meeting with Brookby's and Derby Industrial today."

Soon after he left, Mary stood and followed him out to the dressing room, suddenly remembering she hadn't talked to him about the idea of visiting Evelyn.

She waited until he had finished brushing his teeth. "One more thing," she began. "How about I come with Edith to pick you up this afternoon and we all go up to York. You and I need to see Evelyn before we head to London."

"I'd really like that," Matthew said, placing his coat and bag on his lap. He turned and looked at her. "I couldn't bear going off to London without having seen him first."

"Neither me," Mary replied.

He reached out and took her hands, pulling her to him. "I'm going to look forward to seeing Evelyn. And I'm sorry I have to leave," he murmured and they kissed each other goodbye. Mary's body tingled, enjoying the warmth and taste of his kiss. She straightened up reluctantly and gave him a wan smile. "I guess I'll have to get used to this going to work business," she remarked. "I did choose to become a solicitor's wife after all."

Matthew chuckled. "You did indeed. But you know, come May and you take over Jarvis's office in the village, we'll be racing each other out the door!" and smiling, he turned to go.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Matthew was reviewing the Brookby papers and taking notes of key points to cover in the meeting when the telephone on his desk rang, startling him out of his train of thought.

"Matthew, my boy. It's Charles," said the voice on the other end of the line. "I know you have Brookby's this morning. I'll be quick."

"Go ahead," Matthew said immediately.

"I've got some more names. Have you got a pen handy?"

Matthew tucked the telephone receiver under his chin, reached for his fountain pen and opened his folio to a clean page.

"Fire away," he said.

It was the eighth name that he got Charles to repeat. "You said someone Braithwaite? Who was that again?"

"Edna. Edna Braithwaite."

Matthew's heart began to beat fast. He was sure there was someone on the staff called Braithwaite. "Any others Charles?" he asked quickly.

"Only two others," Charles said, and he read them out.

"That Braithwaite name," Matthew said. "It rings a bell. I'll call Mary now. Thank you so much for this Charles."

"No problem, my boy. And do well for us with Brookby's this morning will you?"

"I'll do my best," Matthew promised.

Charles rang off, and Matthew immediately placed a call through to the Abbey.

Mary was in the small library, a file open in front of her. She was frowning a little as she read: the information was confirming that more than half of the estate's properties were behind on maintenance: and few had been modernised: those that had were the row of ten cottages closest to the Abbey that Matthew had convinced Robert to improve some years earlier.

There was a knock at the door, and Alfred entered and stood to attention. "Lady Mary," he said formally. "An urgent telephone call for you from Captain Crawley."

"Thank you, Alfred," Mary said and she hurried out to the hall.

"My darling," Matthew said sounding a little breathless. "Edna Braithwaite. Is she someone on the staff at Downton?"

"Edna Braithwaite?" Mary said, puzzled. "I think she is on the staff. But, just a minute, wasn't she one of the maids that died in the 'flu outbreak?"

Sybil, who had just entered the great hall from the drawing room heard her mention the name and froze.

"Either way, Mary, can you get her room checked," Matthew went on. "She might just be our spy."

"Yes, of course," Mary replied. "Are there any other names, in case we are dealing with more than one?" Matthew quickly ran through the rest of the list, but there was no one else Mary recognised.

"She's the only one. I'll get onto it straight away." She said good-bye and put the receiver back. As she turned to go, she saw Sybil walking quickly towards her looking concerned.

"Mary," Sybil said. "I couldn't help overhearing you. What's this about Braithwaite?"

Mary gave her sister a troubled look. "Sybil, I can't say. I promised Mama I wouldn't," she said honestly.

Sybil stared at her. "This is something to do with Papa being away, isn't it," she said. Mary nodded. "Very well," she said at last. "If this is something sensitive for Mama then I won't press you further. But just so you know, Tom, I mean Branson," she corrected hurriedly, "said something the other day about Braithwaite being a nasty piece of work."

A prickle of unease ran through Mary's body. _I need to get to Mrs Hughes_, she thought. _Now._

"Thank you for that my dear," Mary said grimly. "That further confirms my suspicions! Now if you will excuse me," and Sybil watched in surprise as her sister hurried quickly towards the door to downstairs.

As she approached Mrs Hughes's sitting room Mary overheard her and Mr Carson conversing in worried tones. When she got to the half open door and knocked, Carson looked up, his brow furrowed. The furrowed brow was quickly replaced by a fond smile when he saw it was Mary. He stood up and gave her a slight bow. "Lady Mary, good morning! What may we help you with?" His smile faded as he saw her barely contained agitation.

"I'm here to ask Mrs Hughes for some information about one of the maids," Mary said, trying to keep her voice even. "Edna Braithwaite." To her surprise, Carson and Mrs Hughes glanced at each other a little nervously.

"What is it?" Mary asked, her tone sharper than she intended.

"Would you like to sit down, Lady Mary," Mrs Hughes said, her mouth set in a thin line.

Mary nodded and sat, and Mrs Hughes began.

"Only a few minutes before you arrived, Mr Carson and I had, well you could say, an altercation with a young man who arrived at the servant's entrance saying he was Edna's brother. He wanted access to her room so he could take her belongings: belongings he said were now the rightful property of her family. He tried to push past me and…"

"Well you can imagine how dimly I see that sort of behaviour," Carson interrupted grimly. "I told the young man that under no circumstances would Lord Grantham permit strangers in the house. I told him to return here at two o'clock which was the earliest we could spare a servant to accompany him to her room."

"And he was none too pleased," Mrs Hughes added. "He tried to argue, well you can imagine how that went down," she said with a glance towards Mr Carson.

"Humph," said Carson. "I stared him down, my Lady," he said looking at Mary. "And he took his leave and told us he would be back promptly at two o'clock on account of his late sister's business."

Mary smiled. "I don't know what we would all do without you, Carson, ensuring the house rules are always followed strictly to the letter!"

Carson gave a stern nod, and Mrs Hughes added, "My sentiments exactly! Now Mr Carson," she said briskly. "I can see to this matter Lady Mary wishes to discuss. How about we let you get on your way."

"Of course," Carson said. "A good day to you, Lady Mary," and he left the room.

"I take it you think she is somehow involved," Mrs Hughes said in a low voice, as she and Mary rapidly climbed the stairs to the attic rooms.

"Yes," Mary answered. "Captain Crawley has found something out. He insisted we look through her things."

Mrs Hughes unlocked the door to Edna's room and they both went in. With the exception of the bed, which had been stripped, Edna's possessions were still set about, untouched.

"None of us have had the heart to clean and pack up her room I'm sorry Lady Mary," Mrs Hughes said sadly. "She wasn't the most likeable person, and clearing out Jane and Vera's rooms was quite enough for us all last week."

"Of course," Mary said kindly. "And we are not here on account of the housekeeping. It is probably a blessing it has been undisturbed with what we need to do now!"

They began to search the room, looking for anything that might be remotely suspicious. In their initial look through the wardrobe and the chest of drawers, they found nothing untoward. But when they looked under the mattress they found a purse. It was full of cash, the sum in excess of fifty pounds.

"Oh my goodness," Mrs Hughes breathed. Looking under the mattress again, she saw that there was something under the bed, and she leant down and pulled it out.

It was an old battered suitcase. It was locked.

"There must be a key," Mary muttered, and the two of them began a search for it, finally locating it hidden in the pocket of her dressing gown in the closet. Her fingers trembling slightly, Mrs Hughes opened it up, and both of them gasped when they saw the contents.

It was full of documents. Amongst what they could see were cyclostyled copies of the Estate's financials. Share certificates for some recent investments. Letters from George Murray to Lord Grantham. And another copy of the receipt from Doctor G Thompson concerning the patient 'Miss J Levinson.' Mrs Hughes removed some and began to look through them.

There was also a notebook. Mary fished it out, and opened it. It contained scribbled names, odd comments, and addresses. She shivered when she saw that one of the scribbled names on the very first page was Thomas Barrow. Alongside it was an address in York. As she flicked further through the pages, she became more and more disconcerted: Carson was listed, alongside the name of his former acquaintance Charles Grigg, a man the family knew had a checkered past. Edith's name was there, with the word _Drake_, and a question mark alongside. And Sybil too, with _Tom Branson_ listed next to her. Mary felt sickened. Braithwaite had been very busy indeed. She slipped the notebook into her pocket, deciding immediately she didn't wish to share its contents with Mrs Hughes.

Mrs Hughes looked up from the papers she was reading, shocked. "Well, I never! I'm so very sorry my Lady! That this was going on under our very noses," she shook her head. "She wasn't the most pleasant person on the staff, but she did do her job so very well. And she came to us with impeccable references!"

"You are not to blame, Mrs Hughes," Mary said. "It is clear that Edna was working for someone. And clear that she is quite professional at this, given how much she has managed to gather here without ever raising suspicion!"

"All the same. I wish I had kept a closer eye. But I never had reason to suspect!" Mrs Hughes wrung her hands. "What do we do now? That young man who says he is her brother will be back at two o'clock."

Mary looked at her, thinking hard. "First. Let's assume that young man is somehow involved. It's probably safer, even if it turns out later he is legitimately her brother." She glanced at her pocket watch. "Second. Let's sort through this information. If we work quickly we should be able to do it in time. How about we leave the items it doesn't matter that someone else knows. If we are lucky he won't see anything untoward. After all, Edna died from the 'flu so that provides at least some reason why she might not have quite finished obtaining what she initially set out to."

Mrs Hughes nodded. "And then we leave everything as it was when we got here. And hopefully, avoid raising any suspicion of our search just now."

"Exactly," Mary answered.

"Very well. "I'll go and fetch us a box we can sort into," and Mrs Hughes left to find one.

It took them almost an hour to go through all the items. A reasonable pile of less important information and documents on the public record remained in the suitcase, which they locked again. Mrs Hughes returned the key to the dressing gown. "Let's not make it too easy for this so called brother," she said grimly.

After making sure the room looked like it had when they had first entered, the two of them returned downstairs. Mary took a seat in Mrs Hughes's sitting room, and Mrs Hughes asked Daisy to bring them through a cup of tea.

They sipped their tea in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the chance to rest after the intensity of the morning. Mary wondered what they should do when the 'brother' returned. _What would Matthew suggest?_ She thought to herself. And then she had a brainwave.

She smiled and looked across at Mrs Hughes. "Mrs Hughes. Have you ever used a camera?"

"No, my Lady," Mrs Hughes said. "But Alfred has," she continued. "Are you thinking we should photograph this gentleman?"

"I am indeed," Mary replied. "Without his knowledge! I can give you Matthew's camera for this purpose. Could you get Alfred to help? Be the manservant who accompanies you and this 'brother' to her bedroom?"

"Of course," Mrs Hughes smiled. "We'll work up a plan to make sure we get some pictures."

They discussed what else to do, and Mrs Hughes agreed to try and find out as much as possible about the young man.

"And if we find out later that none of what he says is true, then that will still be helpful to us!" Mary said grimly. "If only to confirm he is as crooked as she!"

When Mary had finished her drink, she took the box containing the items retrieved from Edna's suitcase back to her suite. She locked them in the drawer at the bottom of the wardrobe in the dressing room, along with the notebook from her pocket. She felt quite rattled. Edna seemed to have obtained quite a lot of information about the estate's affairs and financials.

Whilst she was enormously relieved she and Mrs Hughes had found the documents before the so-called 'brother' did, she was still worried. The large sum of money in Braithwaite's purse suggested she had already been paid. _I suppose it could have been her life savings,_ Mary thought. She knew some people didn't trust banks and preferred to hold their savings as cash instead.

But if the money had been payment of some kind, what information had already been passed on? She gave a heavy sigh and went through to the study to find the camera.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Matthew was already in the boardroom conversing with the father and son from Brookby's when the Derby Industrial visitors arrived with their solicitor. Messrs' Cronshaw and Dunne, the firms' principals, were brusque but friendly. Their solicitor, in contrast, was cold. He was an immaculately groomed young man, about Matthew's age, sharply dressed in a dark brown tailored suit.

"Arthur Farnham," he said, holding his hand out to Matthew, unsmiling.

"Matthew Crawley," Matthew replied politely. "Please take a seat, Mr Farnham."

Matthew had done his homework. Knew who he was: A tough negotiator, who knew his trade. And that became apparent within minutes of the negotiation starting. Matthew was very glad he had taken the opportunity to review the contract's clauses again on his trip home from London the previous day: every ounce of his preparation was put to the test. And it paid off. As the meeting progressed, he was relieved to find he was a good match for Mr Farnham, with a fairly even number of concessions going to both sides.

It was a gruelling meeting with little to lighten it, so lacking was Mr Farnham in any sense of humour. But it was productive all the same, and at a little after one o'clock, Mr Brookby senior looked across at the visitors and asked politely, "So where does that leave us, gentlemen?"

The two men from Derby Industrial looked at each other and then conferred quickly with their grim-faced solicitor. After a few minutes of murmured discussion, Mr Cronshaw turned to Matthew and his clients. "Gentlemen," he said. "The discussion this morning has been productive. On balance we think what we have negotiated is fair. We are ready to sign."

After the paperwork was completed, the gentlemen stood to leave, shaking hands with one another. Mr Farnham turned to Matthew. "Not often I have to work for my fee," he said in his flat tone. "But I had to this morning. Thanks." and with another unsmiling handshake, he bade Matthew good afternoon, and left. Matthew looked after him, a little bemused. That, he supposed, must have been a compliment.

When the door shut behind the last of the visitors, Mr Brookby senior turned to Matthew and said. "Good. Very good! Very good indeed!" he was almost effusive. "It has been a while since we've managed such a favourable deal," he continued. "And with Derby!"

Matthew smiled. "We had drafted a fair contract to start with," he countered. "They could see that."

Mr Brookby the son replied. "That is true. But don't be too modest. You were very effective in how you put our case. And you didn't compromise on our critical points. Mr Farnham has a reputation for being tough and you proved a good match."

Charles arrived back mid-afternoon from London, having met with Violet and Robert before he left. After tending to his messages and returning some calls, he went to see Matthew.

"I've just spoken to Arnold Brookby on the telephone," he said taking a seat opposite Matthew's desk. "He is very pleased. This was their third attempt at a deal with this crowd and you finally made it happen for them! With terms, they are comfortable with."

Matthew smiled. "I was glad to get it through for them in one meeting. Especially with so little of the week left before I am away."

Charles looked at him thoughtfully, and cleared his throat. "Quite frankly, Matthew, your performance on this has been superb. From the quick turn around last week to what took place today. Now about this fee: I'm very tempted to award you the full fee from this deal…"

Matthew interrupted, shaking his head. "No," he said firmly. "Brookby's are your client Charles. Pay me for the hours worked at the associate rate, and leave it at that."

Charles was silent for a minute, rubbing his chin. "I can't accept that, Matthew," he said at last. "For two reasons. First, it was a conditional fee agreement, and the success fee bears little relation to hourly rates. And second, Brookby's have been a loyal client of ours for more than twenty years. The last few times we've acted for them, it hasn't been exactly… successful."

"Well, it's no wonder given how little turn around time they give if this last week was anything to go on!" Matthew interjected a little crossly.

Charles didn't respond. Instead, he continued. "We were in danger of losing them. "But as I said earlier, you got them a deal they have been chasing for several years, and on very good terms!" He paused, looking across at Matthew with a shrewd expression.

"I'm going to suggest a 50:50 split." Charles picked up his pen and scratched some figures down a piece of notepaper. He pushed it across the desk towards Matthew. "The success fee component we negotiated was relatively generous. That figure is what each of us will take home."

Matthew read the figure and inhaled sharply. "Oh. That's…" He rubbed his forehead and looked up. Charles was smiling and Matthew began to smile too.

"Yes, my boy. It's more than what you'd expect to take home in a year as an associate," the older man said easily. "And there is some more good news. Brookby senior want to use your services again," and Matthew's smile broadened a little more.

They heard a knock, and Beatrice entered, carrying a tray. "Afternoon tea Sirs," she said politely. They thanked her, and sat back with their cups, and Charles began to update Matthew on what had happened in London, explaining the plan he had worked out with Robert and Violet to 'investigate the investigator' as he put it. "There's a fairly strong rumour he was involved in a double cross in a tax fraud case involving a military supply deal a few years back. I'm going to start on that. If I can substantiate it, we might be able to use the threat of outing him for some immediate leverage. No client is going to go near a PI with that sort of reputation."

"I suppose we can be grateful for small things in this matter," Matthew said wryly. "Robert choosing a PI little better than a crook!"

Charles smiled, and sat back, nursing his teacup. "It was an interesting morning, I have to say," he mused. "Lord Grantham's quick to fly off the handle, isn't he?"

Matthew chuckled. "He is indeed. But his bark is worse than his bite. Underneath it all, he's a generous man, and he's not afraid to admit when he has been wrong. It's just that getting to that point can sometimes take a while!"

Charles laughed. "Well, his mother's a tough old stick," he said fondly. "She wouldn't let him get away with any nonsense!

"My father was a great fan of the Dowager, you know. Got her out of a number of scrapes, or more to the point, got the late Lord Grantham out of a number of scrapes! He wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer when it came to financial management apparently," Charles shook his head. "How there was any asset left at all for his son Robert, I'll never know."

Matthew said nothing, but he gave his boss an inscrutable smile. _Charles, if only you knew_, he thought to himself. _If only you knew._

0-0-0-0-0-0

"This is a rather unorthodox way to greet your clients!" Edith giggled after Beatrice had shown her and Mary through the rear door to Matthew's office. Matthew was lying on the sofa, propped up on his elbows, a sizeable looking client file spread in front of him.

"It's only wife and sister-in-law clients who get the pleasure of me greeting them prone from the sofa," Matthew answered lightly, and Edith giggled again. He placed a bookmark in the file and closed it. "Mary, could you…" he began.

"Of course," Mary replied, seeing immediately he needed a hand to turn over on the narrow sofa. She helped him sit up.

Matthew stretched his arms and shoulders. He grinned at Edith. "Actually, Edith, it's my survive at work strategy. I lie down to do my reading and Beatrice locks the door so I don't risk giving any clients a fright thinking I'm sleeping on the job!"

"I see," Edith smirked. "You won't be the only one who works in unconventional places. I do my most productive writing lying on a rug in the rose garden!" They all laughed, and then Mary looked at Matthew, frowning a little. "How are you?" she asked. "You look very tired."

"I am." He stretched his shoulders again, wincing slightly. "And I'm a little sore. It's been quite a day. I got the Brookby deal through for them, and they are pleased as punch. But it was a long and tough negotiation." He looked at her and said, "I might need you to give me a rub down if I'm going to cope with that car trip to York."

"We could have come and got you earlier," Mary chided, shrugging off her coat. She moved closer to him and started to rub his shoulders. "You work too hard you know!"

"Now you're sounding like Sergeant Barrow," Matthew grumbled.

"Well, he and I both have a vested interest in keeping you alive," Mary remarked.

"I pay Barrow. I can see why he might have a vested interest in keeping me alive. But what, Lady Mary, could possibly be your interest?" Matthew leaned back into her hands like a cat.

"I can think of a few interests," Mary shot back. "None of them, however, are fit for Edith's ears."

Edith giggled, enjoying their banter. "Oh, I don't know, Mary. You couldn't possibly accuse me of being the blushing maiden these days. Let's keep that role reserved for Sybil!"

"Just what have you been up to, that we don't know about?" Mary replied, pretending to look shocked.

Matthew chuckled. "I think the two of you need to have this conversation when I'm not around! Edith, if you go out to reception, Beatrice can organise a cup of tea for you and show you through to the staff sitting room. We won't be too long I hope."

Edith stood up, smiling. "A cup of tea sounds like a good idea," and she saw herself out.

With Edith gone, Mary set to work helping Matthew with his stretching. As she worked, she explained what had happened with their search of Braithwaite's room, and how thanks to Mrs Hughes's and Alfred setting up a somewhat elaborate ruse in the afternoon, some photographs were obtained of the young man professing to be her brother.

"That was really good thinking on your part!" Matthew said, impressed. "And also good thinking on leaving some documents in the case so that it looked like she hadn't been found out."

"We were quite pleased with ourselves!" Mary said smiling. "And Mrs Hughes said Alfred got terribly excited about the whole thing and carried it off extremely well. She paused, remembering then about the notebook. "Matthew. There was one thing we found that particularly concerned me," and she told him about it, and some of the names that were in it.

"At least it's in your hands now," Matthew commented, frowning.

"Yes. But what if the items in it have already been shared?" she said, worriedly.

Matthew shook his head. "I don't know, Mary. I really don't know. And we won't know until we can put this whole messy puzzle together."

"On that, how did things go this morning for Charles?" Mary asked.

"He had a useful session with Robert and cousin Violet," Matthew replied. "They've got a plan for how they might turn the situation with the Private Investigator to our advantage, and Charles will start on that right away."

"And when is Papa going to come home?" Mary asked cautiously.

"He should be on his way home now," Matthew answered. "He is going to stay the night at the Dower House with cousin Violet, and then she will go up with him to the Abbey tomorrow morning to talk with Cora."

"Thank you for all of this," Mary said fervently. "Especially for going to see Papa yesterday with Granny, and getting him to agree to come back. And thank you for organising for Charles to help him: I could never have seen Papa going to George Murray over a problem with his marriage!"

"No. It is a lot better this way," Matthew answered. "Especially with Charles's knowledge of how Carlisle works." He was quiet for a minute, enjoying the relief Mary's small but strong hands were bringing to his body.

"I do question whether we did the right thing though," he said. "Outing Carlisle to the Military Intelligence Office. If we hadn't done this, your family wouldn't have had any of this trouble," he gave a heavy sigh.

Mary stopped what she was doing. She stood up and faced him. "Don't ever doubt what you did," she said firmly.

"Even though it has brought all this angst?" Matthew said, looking at her disbelieving. "Was it really worth all this?"

"Of course it was worth it!" she said, suddenly angry. "If you hadn't done it, I would have! Think about it! You can't walk. Evelyn is fighting for his life, and your best friend wakes up every night screaming! All because of the blasted war! And he…. He did things to make it keep going. He did things that put our side at risk! That led to more of our people dying and getting hurt," she raged, clenching her fists. "Do you hear me, Matthew? Don't you ever, ever doubt what you did!" She was staring at him, her cheeks flushed and her eyes wide.

"Who told you about Alex?" he said quietly, his face pained.

"Clarissa wrote me. And she's phoned Edith several times. He… he tried to strangle her in bed a few nights ago."

Matthew put his face in his hands. "It never bloody stops," he muttered. "Never! I thought he might be spared." He rubbed his face distractedly. He wanted to howl. _Why Alex? Why? When it's fucking well supposed to be over? Fuck. Fuck it._ "Oh god, Mary. I can't bear it. Poor Alex!"

He felt the sofa move. Felt Mary's arms tightening around him. "You did the right thing," she said softly into his ear. "I know Richard. If you hadn't outed him, he would have caused all this trouble anyway. Just to find another way to hurt me." She kissed the side of his neck and held him for a few minutes. "And try not to worry. Alex is getting help. Edith has got Clarissa onto Dr Rivers."

0-0-0-0-0-0

Perhaps it was the hospital smell. The chemical odour of bleach mixed with the stench of sickness. Or the blank faces of the soldier patients being pushed or helped by the uniformed staff. But whatever it was, when they walked through the main entrance of the York Infirmary and the swing doors shut behind them, all of them stopped and looked at each other uncertainly. Matthew's face had drained of colour. "Matthew," Mary said quickly, "Are you all right?"

He nodded. "I just need a minute," he mumbled, taking a deep breath and trying to steel himself to cope with the sight of maimed and broken men he knew he couldn't avoid when they reached the large hospital wards.

"It's… confronting, isn't it," Edith whispered, looking a little pale herself. "You'd think we were all used to it. Doing what we've done. But…" Mary nodded solemnly, understanding.

The two of them looked at Matthew and waited. "I'm ready," he said after a few minutes, his voice stronger again. "Let's go see Evelyn," and they made their way down the long corridor towards his ward.

When Sarah-Jane saw them arrive and stop at the entrance, she stood up and came to meet them. "I'm so glad you have come!" she said tearfully, exchanging kisses all around. "It's been very difficult. And we still don't know… we still don't know if he's going to be all right," her voice was anguished.

"Oh my dear," Edith said sympathetically. "I'd like to see Evelyn for a little while. How about we do that, and then Mary and I take you to tea? To give you a break. Matthew can keep Evelyn company while we're gone," she said glancing at Matthew who nodded immediately.

Sarah-Jane gave a small smile. "I'd like that. And Evelyn will like that," she flashed Matthew a grateful look.

Evelyn was flushed and shaky, and clearly in a lot of pain. But his face lit up when he saw them all, and he was eager to hear their news. Matthew let Edith and Mary do the talking initially. After they left with Sarah-Jane, Evelyn lay back and closed his eyes. "Sorry, Matthew. I need a moment."

"Of course," Matthew reassured him. "We don't have to talk. It's just good to see you." After a few minutes, Evelyn opened his eyes. "Tell me about Downton," he said. So Matthew caught him up on what had happened, and the quite extraordinary developments of the past few days.

Evelyn laughed when Matthew told him how Robert had unwittingly engaged the same Private Investigator Carlisle had put on his case. "It's like something out of a crime novel!" he chortled.

"It wasn't funny when he first told me," Matthew said wryly. "I was furious! But it seems funny now, telling it to you," he grinned.

"And how's work?" Evelyn murmured. Matthew told him about the Brookby deal, and how he had ended up with a windfall. "Well deserved," Evelyn smiled. "You could buy a car! Treat yourself. And give Mary a surprise."

Matthew looked at him thoughtfully. "What a great idea. I've been on to her about learning to drive."

"Exactly. Get one of those new sporty things. A Roadster perhaps." Evelyn said, a little breathless with the effort of talking. "Something stylish she would like to be seen in. Provide an incentive!"

"You clearly know how Mary's mind works better than I!" Matthew chuckled.

"Style has always mattered to her," Evelyn replied fondly. "Since she was very young. A car will be no different."

A nurse arrived to check on Evelyn, and Matthew rolled his chair back away from the bed whilst she went about her tasks, checking his wound dressing, and completing his chart. "Your temperature has dropped a little, Lieutenant Napier," she said briskly. "Let's hope that keeps up. And when did you last have some water?" She bustled about, helping him to drink a little, and rearranging his pillows. After she departed, the two of them were silent and Evelyn closed his eyes again.

Matthew finally asked, "And how are you old chap. Really?"

"Fighting," Evelyn said turning his head to look at Matthew. "It could still go either way," he sighed. "But so far I'm holding my own after the operation." He paused and said softly, "And I did what you said. We're going to get married. Here if we have to! As soon as they say I've turned the corner. I promised Sarah-Jane."

"That's marvellous," Matthew said fervently. "It will work you know. Having a reason." He looked Evelyn directly in the eye. "William was the reason I fought, early on."

"And what about later?" Evelyn said, breathless again from the talking.

"Mother. And… well, Mary," Matthew blushed.

Evelyn smiled at him. "And it was worth it, wasn't it," he whispered. "Living, I mean."

"Hell, yes," Matthew replied. "And it will be for you too."


	38. Chapter 38

Major General Robert Jones's office smelled of books and furniture polish. There was a large wooden desk in the centre, behind which sat a swivel chair upholstered in dark green leather. The room felt pleasant and spacious, and sunlight spilled through the high windows.

_A man of literature,_ Mary noted, taking in the floor to ceiling bookcase that took up an entire wall. She could see that the crammed shelves not only held medical texts, but also many titles on history, philosophy and science. _Almost as many books as in Papa's library,_ she thought, impressed.

Doctor Jones, as he insisted they call him, despite the fact that he, too, was not yet 'demobbed' as he joked to Matthew, was a pleasant friendly gentleman, to which all of them immediately warmed. After the necessary introductions, he ushered them to seats opposite his desk, and he and Isobel spent a few minutes exchanging news of mutual friends, including Charles Stout who had been a close friend of Reginald's when he worked at the Manchester Infirmary twenty years prior.

The pleasantries over, he opened up the file Major Clarkson had sent him and looked across at them all. "Captain Crawley, let me start by apologising that your appointment had to be delayed not once but twice: it is not something I like to do where my patients are concerned."

"Thank you, Sir," Matthew said politely, and Dr Jones explained how the consultation would run. As they got under way, Matthew grew increasingly relieved that his mother was in the room, as so much of what Doctor Jones asked he either couldn't answer, or had only a vague recollection. Isobel, armed with the journal she had kept with details of her son's condition and treatment, was able to answer every question with quite astonishing accuracy. Doctor Jones seemed particularly keen to confirm when it was Matthew had first noticed improvement, and he also asked a lot of questions about the pains Matthew had been initially told were 'phantom.'

"To summarise, then, let's see if I have this right," Dr Jones said, sitting back and clasping his hands. "You first noticed improvement when you had finally turned the corner, and beaten that last serious infection, correct?" Matthew nodded. "And there was a period of quite rapid improvement, including return of continence and some feeling in your lower torso and legs?

"Yes, but to start with it was barely perceptible in my legs," Matthew corrected.

"But that started to change, a while back now, some time in late October?" the Doctor continued looking down at his notes.

"Yes, in my right leg," Matthew clarified. "It started to get more pronounced. But it has only been the last few weeks it has got more definite in the left one. And it's more patchy."

"Have you regained any movement?" he asked.

Matthew shook his head. "No. Well I've tried of course. But… his face reddened. "It's like I've forgotten how," he said his voice a little resigned.

"Have you been doing any physical therapy to help with that?" Doctor Jones continued.

Matthew shook his head. "No. I was told there was no point unless I regained full sensation. So it's just been massage and stretching."

"Should we have been?" Sybil asked suddenly. _Have we been holding Matthew back?_ She wondered a little perturbed.

"Ideally, yes, you should have been," Doctor Jones, answered. Sybil frowned, and the Doctor gave her a wry smile.

"Sister Crawley," he said. "Physical therapy is a relatively young discipline. To advance it, we need to try things out," he gave her a serious expression. "This includes revisiting what may hitherto have been regarded as 'truths.'"

"Oh," Sybil replied, surprised. It suddenly dawned on her that the role of nurse, and the role of physical therapist, the emerging new field that it was, necessitated quite different thinking. She gulped. She clearly had a lot to learn.

Doctor Jones closed his file and stood up. "Captain Crawley," he said. "It's time for the x-ray and physical examination. Could you come this way please," and he motioned him through to the adjacent room. "Ladies, we will be about half an hour," he said turning to the women. You may stay here, or if you prefer, my secretary can show you to the tea room."

Dr Jones and Matthew were joined by a trainee doctor, called Mr Williams, and a cheerful young orderly who set about readying Matthew for the x-ray, which took a little time to set up and conduct.

The physical examination followed, with various touch and reflex tests. Matthew couldn't help contrasting the courteous and thorough approach of the two doctors with the unpleasant experience he had had with Doctor Brookes.

When it had finished, the two doctors conversed for a few minutes, and Dr Jones wrote down a series of notes. When he finally looked up, Matthew asked hesitantly, "Sir, what do you think?"

"Promising," he replied. "It's probably imperceptible to you with your sense of touch not what it was, but you have a little movement in your right leg, and also in your upper left. In my view it is enough to work with, and it bodes well for further recovery," he said with a smile. "But I don't want to say much more until we have those x-rays back and I have discussed your case with another specialist," he said surveying Matthew over the top of his glasses.

Matthew nodded and murmured "of course," but his heart had begun to pound and he had to bite back his impatience at having to wait a little longer. _"Promising." What did that mean?_

Mr Williams and the orderly left, and as soon as the door shut, Matthew asked Doctor Jones for a private word before they returned to the others.

"Yes, of course," Dr Jones said. He looked at Matthew closely. "This is about sexual function I presume?" Matthew blushed slightly and nodded.

"I thought as much. Most men I see here have questions about this, and wish to ask those questions well away from their wives! Well then. What is it that you would like to know?"

"I want to know if we can have children," Matthew said directly. "I have been told we can't, but…" he paused for a minute, his face reddening once more, before ploughing on and telling the Doctor of his experience a few weeks prior when he had actually managed to... he forced the word out… Ejaculate.

Dr Jones was extremely matter of fact, and not at all patronising, which put Matthew at ease. He asked several more questions, and then he said, "You know, it is not unheard of for men with paraplegia to have children," he said.

"What?" Matthew said, surprised. "I've always been told it would never be possible."

"For most of the patients I see it is not. Particularly where there is a complete transection," Dr Jones answered. "But that is not the case for you. From what I've seen so far, your injury appears to be, at worst, a partial, or what is sometimes called an incomplete transection in the lumbar region of your spine. And what you have just described reinforces for me that you may well be able to father children."

"How can it be, when I can't feel there very well?" Matthew asked, puzzled.

"Well, we don't know very much about this area," Dr Jones said. "We can only surmise that when some nerve function is retained, it can compensate to a degree for what has been lost. It does mean, of course that because sensation is compromised, it might take a bit of trial and error before you are able to achieve ejaculation during intercourse." He went on, "The main things, according to what my patients tell me, is to be relaxed. And try not to get too worried if it doesn't happen at first." Matthew nodded. That made sense.

"Do you have any other questions before we go back through?" Doctor Jones asked.

"Will I get full sensation back?" Matthew asked.

"I can't answer that with any certainty," he said. "Probably not. But you might. I say that, as your case is unusual. I have had only a handful of patients, you among them, who have reported improvement this far out from the initial injury. If that continues, well…" he looked at Matthew and shrugged.

"I have just one more question," Matthew said. "Is it the physical act that is important? The paralysis doesn't cause other problems?"

"We're not exactly sure," Doctor Jones frowned. "Again, all I can tell you is that I have patients with situations similar to yours, who have fathered healthy children. Your health otherwise, is very good. Assuming that your wife, also, is healthy, I can't see why you both mightn't expect to become parents in the future," and he gave Matthew an encouraging smile.

"Thank you Sir," Matthew said, and for the first time in a very long time he dared to imagine himself and Mary actually making a baby. Doctor Jones stood then, and he and Matthew returned to the office where Mary, Sybil, and Isobel were waiting.

With the first part of the consultation over, Doctor Jones asked them to come back at three o'clock to hear his conclusions, and he turned to Sybil. "Sister Crawley. You are probably aware from Major Clarkson, that I am keen to speak with you further about the physical therapy trial you have been involved with," he began.

Sybil nodded expectantly, suddenly feeling a little nervous.

"How about we do that over luncheon. It will give us the opportunity to have a more leisurely discussion. And it will also give you the chance to meet my wife Agnes. She is involved in this area of work too."

"I would be deeply honoured," Sybil replied humbly. She could hardly believe her ears. When Major Clarkson had said Dr Jones was keen to discuss the trial, she had thought, well, just what had she thought? A few minutes snatched during the middle of Matthew's consultation? But no: The highly respected Doctor Jones was asking her to lunch! And not just with him, but with his wife Agnes: a nurse well known in her own right for her ground breaking work in rehabilitation.

"Excellent," he replied. "I've been hearing favourable reports, and just seeing how fit and well Captain Crawley is… well if he is a typical example of one of your patients, I must say I am extremely impressed."

"I think it says more about Matthew than about me!" said Sybil modestly.

"It appears the Army Medical Corps think otherwise," Doctor Jones countered with a wry smile, and he motioned Sybil to the door.

"As do I!" Matthew chided flashing her a grin as they all left the office together.

Over lunch back at the hotel, Matthew told Isobel and Mary about the examination. "He said my situation was 'promising,' in terms of further recovery, but he didn't want to say more until he has viewed the x-rays and talked with a colleague," Matthew frowned and gave a sigh. "So we will have to wait a few more hours I guess!"

"It's nothing compared to the months we have had to wait for your appointment!" Mary gave him a reassuring smile.

"I know but…" Matthew sighed again. "I'm tired of waiting. After months, suddenly hours are too much to bear," he grumbled.

Mary looked at him, and then she remembered what else Matthew had intended to discuss with the doctor. She inhaled sharply. "Matthew, did you…?"

Matthew began to smile, knowing immediately what she was asking. He reached across the table to take both her hands. "I did. And, my darling, that was the best news of the whole session! He thinks it is entirely possible that we will be able to have our own children."

Mary couldn't believe what she was hearing. Despite what had happened that night a week or so ago, she had not let herself hope for a moment.

"How? Why?" her eyes widened. "When we have been told the opposite?"

"He believes the transection is only partial," Matthew explained. "It means that some of the nerves in my spine have been spared. And sometimes when that is the case, it is possible to father children. He told me of some of his patients with situations similar to mine, who have done just that."

Mary looked from Matthew to Isobel and back again, a lump forming in her throat. Here it was. A real possibility that she could have Matthew's children! What a wonderful thought. Images of little blond haired, blue-eyed children bouncing on their father's knee and children riding their ponies with her alongside began to run through her mind. Perhaps they could have this future after all. She put her hand to her mouth and gulped. "Oh Matthew," she said tremulously. "That is such wonderful, wonderful news!" She kissed him impulsively and gave him such a loving joyous look that he felt his pulse begin to quicken and he wanted to take her off to their suite along the hallway there and then.

Isobel looked away, smiling widely not only on account of their news, but at Mary's vey public show of affection. She couldn't help contrasting this softer more demonstrative Mary who was so deeply in love with her son to the reserved, and positively frosty young woman they had first met back in 1912.

When she looked back at them, her eyes were a little bright. "My dears," she said warmly, "I am so very pleased for you both!" and they all grinned at each other savouring the news and what it could mean for the future.

"One thing," Matthew ventured a few minutes later, his face serious again. "Could we keep this just to us? I don't think I could bear Robert, or anyone else for that matter, suddenly having expectations."

Mary pondered his request silently and then she nodded. "Yes, let's. I don't think I could bear the expectation either. Better it be when we have real news." Isobel agreed too, saying it wasn't her news to share in any case. Later, after their meals had arrived, their conversation turned to Sybil.

"I hadn't been aware Dr Jones had wanted to talk with her," Mary commented.

"It was Major Clarkson," Isobel replied. "He wrote to Dr Jones when he found out she was going to be at the appointment to answer questions about your therapy. He thought Dr Jones would want to hear about the trial in more general terms, and he was right."

"Why is that?" asked Mary.

"The Army Medical Corps have been monitoring the rehabilitation trial, and it has been comparing very favourably with some other programmes," Isobel explained. "Apparently the men leaving Downton are returning to their homes much more ready for civilian life – and the proportions returning to work are higher than for wounded servicemen from some of the other convalescent homes."

"Sergeant Barrow made a similar comment about its effectiveness too," Matthew added. "He has been a strong supporter of what she's been doing all along."

"That's not surprising," Isobel said, almost to herself. She was remembering back to an event at Downton Hospital early in the war, before the convalescent hospital had even been set up. Barrow and Sybil had been working hard to rehabilitate a young gas blinded officer, Lieutenant Courtenay. With space in the hospital at a premium, a decision was made to discharge him, and that night Lieutenant Courtenay had taken his own life.

"Why do you say that?" asked Mary, noticing Isobel's far away look.

"Sergeant Barrow and Sybil saw first hand, early in their war work, the very real risk of tragedy where people are not properly supported and rehabilitated. With a young man who had been blinded, who took his own life," she finished quietly. She told them the story, and how afterwards, Sybil had come to her in tears at the unfairness of the situation.

"What was so difficult for them both, is that they knew the young man was at risk," she explained. "She and Sergeant Barrow argued with Major Clarkson and earned a reprimand for their trouble. And the morning after he was told he was to be discharged, it was Sybil who found him dead."

"Oh, my," Matthew shuddered. "Poor Sybil! And when she had not been nursing long, too."

Isobel gave them both a solemn look. "It's funny how bearing witness to a tragedy can set people on a different life path," she said quietly. "I have never asked Sybil, but I think if we did, we'd find that this event is what began her interest in rehabilitation. And I wouldn't be surprised if it is also why Sergeant Barrow has shown such dedication to his role at the convalescent home these past years too."

"War has certainly changed him," remarked Mary. "The hostile young man that he was has long gone! He has been a pleasure to deal with on work matters these past two years. Always very helpful with suggestions when I've had problems with suppliers, and when we have needed to re-organise shifts for the staff we have shared." She smiled at Matthew. "And now he's proving an excellent valet to you too."

Matthew looked silently at them both, reflecting on how his relationship with Barrow had changed so radically. He remembered back to 1912, when Barrow's arrogance in assuming Matthew couldn't handle his cutlery had left a sour taste during their very first encounter. In contrast to now, which after the horror of the shared experience of the war, he had absolute trust in Barrow, and Barrow in him. War did change things. While terrible for some, it could also bring out the best in others, and Barrow was a perfect example.

At three o'clock, they returned to the hospital, and were ushered into Dr Jones's office. Sybil was already there, smiling widely, and they could see immediately she had news she was bursting to tell. But her news would have to wait, as Doctor Jones got straight down to business. He ushered them to their seats and went to the light box on the wall behind his desk and put up a series of x-rays. Then he sat down and opened his file.

"Captain Crawley, he said with a brief smile. "Let's get started."

"Please do, Sir," Matthew replied, trying to quell his nerves.

Dr Jones began. "I believe that there is a chance, I think a real chance that we will get you back on your feet." Mary and Sybil gasped, and Isobel clasped her hands together and began to smile.

"A real chance?" Matthew looked at him stunned.

Doctor Jones sat back, surveying Matthew with a shrewd expression. "Captain Crawley," he said. "Let me explain. I have seen thousands of patients with spinal injuries in the course of this terrible war, which thankfully is now over. A significant proportion of those patients did not survive beyond the first few weeks. Another significant proportion, whilst surviving the initial risk period, face ongoing medical problems and as a result, drastically shortened life expectancies. You are among a far smaller group of patients who have not only survived, but who have managed to regain their health." Dr Jones paused and picked up his pointer.

"Almost all this group of patients have what we call 'incomplete' injuries to their spine. In your case, it appears to be a partial, or incomplete transection of the spinal cord in the region of this lowest fracture," he said, gesturing one of the x-rays on the light box.

"Why was Matthew told different at the beginning?" Mary asked, confused.

"See this fracture here in the thoracic region?" Doctor Jones replied, gesturing again with his pointer. "Whilst this didn't transect the cord, it did cause severe initial bruising, or something we call spinal shock. This phenomenon usually only lasts hours or days, or in very rare situations, a week or so. But at the time of the initial diagnosis, this would have manifest as total paralysis below the waist.

"What I think occurred is that the shock did resolve early on, but by that time Captain Crawley was far too unwell with other complications to notice."

Mary nodded. She glanced at Isobel who nodded too. A lot of things were starting to make sense.

"And what now?" Matthew asked slowly. "I thought spinal injuries were permanent even if there was just partial transection."

"The damage to the affected nerves certainly is," Doctor Jones said surveying Matthew with a serious expression, "But despite this, in a reasonable proportion of the cases, particularly where the transection is low in the spine, as yours is, we do see recovery."

"How can that be?" Matthew quizzed.

"We are not exactly sure. What we think is that the nerves that have been spared can somehow compensate to a degree for those that are damaged.

"It is a complex area, and no two patients are exactly the same," Doctor Jones shook his head. "For instance I have one patient whose sense of touch is more compromised than yours who is up and walking about on crutches. I have another, who has almost full sensation back, but not enough strength to stand despite a lot of physical therapy.

"All we can surmise is that different sorts of nerves are involved. This means the degree of recovery, and the nature of it varies widely depending on exactly which nerves are damaged and which are spared."

"So why the optimism in my case?" Matthew frowned. "It's almost a year after I was wounded!"

"There are a couple of reasons why I believe there is cause for optimism in your case," the Doctor replied.

"Firstly, some movement is perceptible in both your legs," he held his hand up as Matthew started to say something, 'I know barely perceptible to you," he said kindly. "But there, nonetheless. And enough for us to build on with further therapy.

"Secondly, you are fit and in very good health otherwise. You are therefore well placed to cope with the demands of more intensive therapy, which is what it is going to take if you are to realise this chance for further improvement. And finally, as I said earlier to you, Captain, your case is atypical. Of these few hundred patients I see surviving well with these types of injuries, I have seen only a very few, including yourself, who have continued to report improvement this long past the time of the initial injury."

Doctor Jones then explained a little more about what was ahead, and what he would be providing to the physical therapist Matthew was to see with Sybil the next day.

When he finished, Matthew sat back and said cautiously, "Thank you for all of this Sir. I must say it hasn't quite sunk in… I can't quite believe it! I have spent most of the last year trying to accept there was no hope." He threw his arms up and let them fall in his lap. "And now…" he shook his head frowning.

Mary reached across and squeezed his hand. "It's wonderful news my darling," she said her voice low. "And I know you're going to do it!"

"Of course you are," Isobel said firmly.

Matthew wished they hadn't said that. Their words made him immediately uncomfortable. To his relief, Doctor Jones had started to talk again.

"Give yourself time to let it sink in, Captain," Doctor Jones replied. "And before you go this afternoon, I feel it is important I acknowledge the excellent care you have had, not just from Major Clarkson, but from these three rather extraordinary women! In reading your case notes, I would have to say your odds for survival at the beginning were extremely poor. Yet here you are now, eleven months later in very good health." He gave a brief sigh. "I wish all my patients had access to the level of care that you did."

"You saved my life," Matthew said, squeezing Mary's hand and gazing at his mother and Sybil. "I can never thank you enough for that."

"You being with us is all the thanks we need my dear!" his mother said firmly, and Sybil and Mary nodded in agreement.

"The other aspect of your case I find quite remarkable is how you avoided more serious damage," Doctor Jones continued, looking thoughtfully at Matthew. "The severity of the original fracture in the thoracic region of your spine, put you at extreme risk of further damage to the cord; all it would have taken was someone lifting you incorrectly for it to be transected. You have a lot to thank your fellow soldiers for, getting you off the battle field and back to hospital so intact."

"God was looking after you that day," Isobel gave an uncharacteristic sniff.

"God in the form of Alex!" Mary blurted out, and all of them turned to stare at her.

"Alex?" Matthew's eyes widened.

Mary nodded. "Yes, Alex," she said quietly. "And three others from your regiment. They went out under fire and got you and William." She swallowed. "That's why Alex has a DSO. All of them got it." Matthew stared at her, dumbfounded. "He tried to put the mask back on William," Mary's voice was almost inaudible now. "But it was broken."

_Alex,_ Matthew thought. _Why had he never said? He damn well owed his life to him. And his recovery from what the Doctor was saying. And he had brought William home to his father and Daisy! And they hadn't thanked him. None of them had known to thank him!_ He caught Mary's eyes. They were full of… something. He rubbed his forehead, his mind whirling with conflicting emotions. He didn't know what to think and he didn't trust himself to speak.

Dr Jones looked from Matthew to Mary and back again. "Someone you knew rescued you?" he asked.

Sensing her husband's discomposure, Mary said quickly, "Yes. Matthew was unaware until right now that the person who oversaw his rescue was his best friend Alex."

Dr Jones gave Matthew a kindly look. "Well, you are a most fortunate man indeed! Fortunate on the battlefield, and then with what followed!" A look of sadness crossed his face. "If only others could have had your fortune also. As a Doctor it is the very worst thing to see a patient die or be permanently injured not from the wound itself, but from a lack of proper immobilisation and care immediately afterwards."

There was a silence at this unexpected disclosure, and then Sybil asked timidly. "This was a common occurrence?"

He nodded. "Unfortunately it was," he answered sadly, and with a heavy sigh, he closed his file and stood up. He resumed his smile and said, "That's us for now. Captain Crawley, my secretary will write to you with details of your follow up appointment in two months time," and they exchanged farewells and left his office.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Mary, Isobel and Sybil chattered happily as they left the hospital. Matthew was unusually quiet. Mary wondered briefly if it was the news of what Alex had done. Back in the privacy of their suite, she asked him about it.

"I'm sorry Alex hadn't told you," she said quietly. "And I hadn't before now because I didn't think it was my place! But today it became important you knew," she shook her head. "I hope you didn't mind me coming out with it."

Matthew smiled at her briefly. "Not in the circumstances. You were right. It was relevant. But why didn't he say? I haven't known to thank him Mary!"

Mary pondered his words for a moment. "I don't know," she said at last. "All I do know is that he was devastated you were so badly hurt and that William didn't make it. Clarissa says he is wracked with guilt about that and the people he lost. He's beside himself."

"Guilt is the last thing he should feel!" Matthew said hotly. "He got me out of there alive! And he brought William home to his people!"

"Of course. But I doubt he can see that, where he is right now," she paused and surveyed him with a solemn expression. "What is so hard about all this," she said slowly, "is that even though the war is over, his war isn't. We nurses have seen this pattern a lot. Soldiers initially seeming all right, and then all of a sudden weeks or even months later, starting to show signs of shell shock. I'm really sorry my darling. But I think that is what is happening for Alex."

Matthew shut his eyes. "I felt sick the other night when you told me he was having nightmares," he said heavily. "God, Mary. He doesn't deserve it!"

"None of you deserved the hand this war has served you," Mary said resolutely. "But it is what it is. He will get through it. He has people around him that love him, and good friends like you who can reassure him, because you have been through it too."

Matthew put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. "I do hope you are right. I wanted him spared. He gave his all to the blasted Army. Selflessly for four long years! And this is his reward," Matthew finished bitterly.

"It isn't fair," Mary agreed softly. "But that's what war is. People die and get hurt. In their bodies and in their minds! It's never fair," and she laid her head on his shoulder and began to stroke his hand.

Just before five o'clock, Sybil knocked on their door and asked if they wanted to join her and Isobel for pre-dinner drinks. "If we change for dinner now we could join the cocktail hour in the lounge before our meal. How about it? There's been quite a lot today that we can celebrate!"

They looked at each other, and quickly agreed. Sybil disappeared to talk to Isobel, and Mary rang for Barrow and Anna.

The lounge was busy, but they managed to find seats near the french windows that led out to the terrace. A waiter took their cocktail orders, and after he left, they all sat back and looked at each other smiling.

"What an eventful day!" Isobel said happily looking at her son.

"It has been," Matthew said. Keen to change the subject away from himself he added quickly, "But we've done more than enough talking about me. I want to find out how Sybil got on with Doctor Jones!"

"Of course," Isobel turned to Sybil. "My dear, you are grinning like a Cheshire cat! Just how did your lunch with the revered Doctor go?"

"Very well indeed," the smile on Sybil's face widened.

"What is it?" asked Mary. "Did he offer you a nursing position?"

"Far better!" she said, and her smile grew wider still. "He's offered me a position as a trainee physical therapist. And, there's more. He is keen to see me undertake further study. There is an opportunity, if I can prove I can cope with the work, for me to read for a degree in physical education." There were gasps of delight all around.

"And what was your answer, Sybil?" Mary said.

"Yes of course!" she said firmly. "But I did have a few conditions that I discussed with him before I accepted," she added, and the others looked at each other simultaneously startled and impressed to hear she had been so forward.

"I told him I would like to see the trial right through until the Army officially closes Downton in May," she said with a reassuring glance in Matthew's direction, "And of course he agreed to that, because it's work in the field anyway, and he, too, is keen to see the final results."

"And what was your other condition?" Isobel quizzed.

"To be allowed to continue working when, I mean if, I got married," she corrected hurriedly darting her eyes furtively in Mary's direction. "Because, as you know, some hospitals make women resign once they are wed. He agreed to that, in fact I saw him glance sideways at his wife when I was asking, and I got the distinct impression that she would have had words with him if he dared otherwise!" she giggled. She clapped her hands together. "It is like a dream come true!"

"It is an extraordinary opportunity. And well deserved!" Isobel said warmly.

"It certainly is. I am very pleased for you darling," Mary said fondly.

"As am I," Matthew echoed. "You have made such an enormous difference already to so many of us, my dear," he said fervently. "And this is a wonderful opportunity for many others to benefit from your considerable talents. I can't tell you how proud I am to call you my sister-in-law!" and he reached across and patted her arm. Sybil's eyes filled with tears at his words, and she held Matthew's gaze, an unspoken understanding between them.

They continued to talk, catching up on other news, and then the discussion turned to Edith's wedding plans. Sybil began to fidget, the conversation reminding her she had yet to find an opportunity to tell them of her and Tom's intentions. She glanced across at Matthew, and saw that he, too, wasn't listening. He was staring out the window, his face pensive and his mind clearly elsewhere.

She stood up and went across to him. "Want some fresh air?" she asked solicitously. "I think I do. This wedding talk makes me nervous."

"Wedding talk?" Matthew looked at her blankly, and then as he finally registered with what Mary and Isobel were discussing, he gave her a wry grin and said, "Please. Not my cup of tea either!" and the two of them excused themselves and went outside to the hotel's terrace.

It was a still evening, and relatively warm. They found a quiet corner where a patio table and chairs were conveniently placed, and Sybil took a seat opposite Matthew. They talked of nothing in particular for a bit, and then Matthew lapsed back into silence. He was indeed preoccupied.

"Brother-in-law. You look a little troubled. What is it?" she asked.

Matthew glanced across at her and then looked away. "I'm not sure," he said at last. "I mean, I should be happy, shouldn't I, having that news from Doctor Jones. But I can't help thinking…"

"If it doesn't happen you mean?" Sybil questioned. "Whether you will be able to bear the disappointment?"

Matthew nodded slowly. "Something like that," he said. He looked at her with a serious expression. "It's much easier not hoping, you know," he said quietly. "Hope is almost unbearable."

Sybil gave him a questioning look, not quite understanding, and after a minute he continued.

"I mean, what happens if I still can't at the end of all this? What will everyone think? It will all be a big disappointment."

"What do you mean 'everyone?'" Sybil asked suspiciously.

"Well, Mary. I don't want to disappoint her," Matthew shrugged hopelessly. "And Mother. You heard what both of them said at Doctor Jones's office!"

Sybil realised then what was bothering him. "Matthew," she said gently. "That was about them wanting the best outcome for you. Don't read it as meaning they will think you a failure if it doesn't happen! Matthew was still frowning. _He's really bothered by this,_ Sybil thought. She tried again. "If it doesn't happen of course they will be disappointed. But they will be disappointed for you, not at you! Your mother is a highly experienced nurse, for god's sake. She's realistic and practical. She knows the odds with spinal injuries. And Mary. Well," Sybil shrugged. "You know how much she loves you! Nothing about this would ever change that!"

Matthew looked at her for a long moment, and then he gave a deep sigh. "Thank you for saying that. It's still too easy for me to doubt sometimes." He paused, frowning again. "But seriously, how am I going to do this? I don't want to hope Sybil. Every time I dared hope last year I got burned."

"Don't hope then," Sybil replied unexpectedly. "Just keep doing what has worked for you this far. Taking one session, one day at a time as you have! I mean, face it Matthew, every small improvement from here adds more and more to your life expectancy. That's worth working for, isn't it? And if at the end of all those small improvements you are back on your feet, well, it will be the icing on the cake," and she smiled across at him, and after a long moment he nodded and finally managed to smile back.

0-0-0-0-0-0

It was some hours later, when all of them were more than a little merry and enjoying a _digestif_ after their meal in the lounge area, that Sybil summonsed the courage to make her own announcement.

"Everyone," she said a little timidly. "I have some other news I need to share," and she cleared her throat. "I have been wanting to share this for a while now," she paused and looked at Mary a little sheepishly. "But there hasn't been a good time. Until now, that is."

"Is this about Tom?" Matthew said immediately, and she nodded.

"Tom Branson has asked me to marry him, and I have said yes," she said bravely keeping her eyes fixed on her sister.

"I'm so pleased for you," said Matthew, speaking at exactly the same time that Mary said "Sybil!" sounding horrified.

Mary turned furiously to Matthew, mouthing, "How can you say that?" She turned back to Sybil, shock and anger on her face.

"Sybil, how could you let this happen! I warned you I don't know how many times about that friendship! And now this has gone far too far! What will Papa and Mama say?"

"I love Tom," Sybil said simply. "And I am of age. What Papa and Mama think is up to them. It won't make a jot of difference to my decision," she finished, a resolute tone to her voice.

"But he's not one of us!" Mary beseeched. "He's Papa's chauffeur for god's sake!"

"That doesn't matter to me," Sybil replied evenly. "And he's far more interesting than any one of 'our lot' anyway!"

"But how can you be sure it's real love?" Mary continued. "Isn't he just after your money and your good name?"

"Mary…" Matthew said warningly.

"Well, how sure were you of Matthew?" Sybil responded starting to get defensive.

"That's different!" Mary said hotly.

"Is it really? And how come Matthew is supporting me but you are not?" Sybil challenged.

"But how will you live? And how will he…" Mary began and Matthew threw his hands up and interrupted her.

Mary!" he said sharply. "May I have a word with you, in private please. Now!" and he turned his chair quickly and motioned for her to come with him.

She stared at him angrily, but there was a look on his face she dared not challenge, and sighing impatiently, she followed him out to the terrace.

Isobel turned to Sybil and raised her eyebrows. "Well my dear. You have set the cat amongst the pigeons! I suppose it is to be expected that your sister will worry about you marrying someone outside of the nobility."

"It's a bit rich coming from her," Sybil rolled her eyes. "Matthew's not exactly nobility!" And then realising who she was speaking to she went bright red and stammered, "Oh cousin Isobel, I apologise. That was terribly rude of me! And not even true, I mean he is, I mean he is about to be…"

Isobel rolled her eyes and gave her a wry smile. "I could take offence at your comments but tonight I choose not to," she said. "You made that remark because you are cross with your sister, and I know very well that you of all people see the very real flaws in the British class system!"

"I do," Sybil sighed. "I just wish I didn't have to fight Mary on it, like I will have to fight Mama and Papa."

"I am sure Mary will come around," Isobel said confidently. "She thinks the world of you. And Matthew will help. He thinks the world of you as well as Tom!" She smiled. "Let's wait and see my dear. And in the meantime, tell me a little more about your lunch with Dr Jones. I want to know absolutely everything!" and Sybil began to describe some of the research and exciting new ideas in rehabilitation Doctor Jones and his wife Agnes had discussed with her.

"Did he talk any further to you about Matthew's situation?" Isobel asked a while later.

"As a matter of fact, he did," Sybil's face became serious. "I got the distinct impression from what he said that he was not at all pleased with the advice from Doctor Brookes." She frowned and looked at Isobel. "To quote his exact words, he felt the diagnosis he had made was 'unnecessarily conservative.'" Sybil shook her head. "I wish we hadn't heeded him on the therapy you know."

"Well, it's typical of Major Clarkson," Isobel mused. "He is a traditionalist at heart. Even though he disagreed with his report, he didn't see it as his place to do other than what Doctor Brookes recommended: not at least until directed by another specialist. His protest was getting Matthew referred here!"

Sybil gave Isobel a quizzical look. "Just on that, he also asked why Matthew hadn't been referred to a Dr John Coates. Do you know, Isobel?"

Isobel nodded. "Doctor Coates was Major Clarkson's first choice. Unfortunately he was abroad at one of the military hospitals at that time. That is why Matthew ended up seeing Dr Brookes."

"Oh, I see," Sybil nodded.

"What does the delay in starting the therapy mean?" Isobel asked with a worried frown.

"He thinks just lost time," Sybil said reassuringly. "And it will be harder to begin with. The atrophy in his legs is pretty severe, and it will be very tough to overcome it. But having met him, he seemed very confident Matthew is up to the challenge."

"Of course he is," Isobel said firmly. "One thing Matthew has never been afraid of is hard work."

0-0-0-0-0-0

"Mary, just what is behind this unfair inquisition of your sister, especially now, when she is celebrating such a wonderful achievement!" Matthew hissed when they were out in the quiet of the terrace. "The words coming out of your mouth sound like Robert, not you!" he said frowning at her.

"But Branson! He's only the Chauffeur!" she protested. "What is Sybil thinking?"

"What do you mean 'only the Chauffeur'," Matthew asked in a dangerous voice. "For god's sake Mary, I'm 'only a Solicitor!'"

"He's on the staff, he dines in the servant's hall. He's just not one of us!"

Matthew said nothing, continuing to give her a disapproving stare.

"It will make her life difficult," Mary continued. "Imagine how Granny will react!" She walked off suddenly, then wheeled around on her heel and walked back to him. "Oh, I don't know what I mean," she said, stopping suddenly in front of him, and throwing her hands up in the air in defeat. "She's already taking a different path by choosing to work, and she will be living away from us all too! Won't this just make it even harder? Doing that without a gentleman of influence to go into bat for her? I worry for her, that's all."

"I wonder if you see her as I do," Matthew said, his voice more even now. "Your sister has talent. She works extremely hard, and she has maturity well beyond her years. And she doesn't need a man to go into bat for her! She's more than capable of doing that for herself! I mean, you heard her today, describing how she approached her offer. She wasn't going to say 'yes' just because she had got it. She laid out some clear conditions first! Not many young women would have the courage to negotiate like that with a man of Doctor Jones's standing."

Mary stared at him, frowning a little. "I guess you are right. It's just that to me, she is still very much the younger sister. And choosing this sort of life, it's so very far from what she was brought up with," Mary shook her head. "Isn't she at risk of Branson dragging her down?"

"How well do you know Branson? Matthew asked. "Have you ever spent any real time conversing with him?"

"Why would I?" Mary snapped suddenly. "He drives me places, that is all!"

Matthew rolled his eyes. He could feel himself getting angry again, but he forced himself to stay calm. He didn't want this disagreement to spoil their day, and he didn't want Mary to stay angry with her sister. He had to remind himself that Mary was a product of her upbringing. She had been raised to travel in a vehicle without conversing with the driver. That was the way things were done. He needed to give her the benefit of the doubt.

He took a deep breath and said, "Take a seat," motioning the patio chairs behind them. He spun his chair around to face her. "Let me tell you a little about Branson."

Mary listened while Matthew told her a little of how he had got to know Branson and become friends with him during the many car trips they had shared together since his return from the war.

"He's intelligent and very well read," Matthew said. "He has been writing articles for a socialist newspaper, and he's also had a couple of feature articles accepted by both The Guardian and the Irish Times. He intends to become a journalist as soon as he can find a suitable position. And that could be close. He had an interview this very week."

"Is Papa aware his Chauffeur is moonlighting?" Mary said incredulously.

Matthew deliberately ignored her biting tone and said, "As a matter of fact, he is. Tom sought his approval first."

"Oh," said Mary, the wind taken out of her sails.

"What particularly impresses me about Tom, and what I really want you to hear before you weigh into Sybil again, is how supportive and proud he is of Sybil and her work. He already accepts, and in fact he supports her continuing to work when she is married, and I think he'll be over the moon when she tells him the news she's had today!"

"So you have known of this marriage plan for a while!" Mary said, shocked. "And you never thought to share it with me!"

"Given your reaction these past fifteen minutes is it any wonder I didn't!" Matthew almost shouted in frustration.

Mary looked at him, and he braced himself for a sharp retort. Instead she gave a bitter laugh.

"You are so damn reasonable Matthew Crawley! Always the champion of the downtrodden! And no one could accuse you of being beholden to tradition. You're ready to overlook it at every turn!" she threw her arms open. "What amazes me," she went on, "is how on earth you and I have ended up together. How can you stand having a snob such as me for a wife?" Mary rolled her eyes.

"I do wonder that sometimes," Matthew shook his head. "But what I have come to know about you, is that you think initially in the way you have been brought up to think. But then you seem to take a breath, and put a situation in perspective. And the opinion you voice then is usually more moderate and considered. And that's the opinion I see as being from the true Mary." He smiled and reached out and took her hand.

She smiled back at him, and then she leaned across and gave him an impulsive kiss. "I know you don't see it, but it is very different – you and I marrying – compared with Sybil marrying the Chauffeur."

"Please refer to him as Tom, or Mr Branson, if you can't deal with a first name!" said Matthew, irritated again, with Mary's reference to 'the Chauffeur.'

"Sorry," she said contritely. "I mean, you can't say it's going to be easy for Tom's parents either, is it?"

"No, but as for Robert and Cora, just because it's not going to be easy for the parents isn't a reason not to do something. I mean look at us! Marrying with all the odds we had against us!"

Mary was quiet for a moment. "And you really think he loves her."

"Absolutely. He's crazy about her. And he is supportive of her. He'll do the very best he can for her."

"Sounds like someone I know. Mary looked at him and gave a small smile.

"Exactly." He grinned. "That's more like it. Now come back inside, and let's help Sybil with some ideas about how she might soften the blow for Robert and Cora."

"Not to mention Granny!" Mary sighed.

0-0-0-0-0-0

"Telephone call for you, Lady Sybil," the waiter announced where she and Isobel were breakfasting together in the hotel dining room the next morning.

"Oh?" Sybil was surprised. Who was calling her this early? She followed the waiter to the telephone in the hotel lobby. "Hello," she said hesitantly into the receiver.

"Hello my girl," she heard Tom's cheery voice.

"Tom!" she said her face breaking into a smile. "I didn't expect a call!"

"I've got news," he said. "And I need to give my reply today."

"I'm glad you did," Sybil said quickly. "Because I have news too!"

"You first," Tom said.

"No you first, you called!" she countered.

Tom chuckled. "Very well. They have offered me the job. They want me to start as soon as possible. The salary isn't too bad. I've done the sums. It would be enough for two of us, as long as we live modestly."

"That's wonderful, Tom," Sybil was surprised and pleased. "I hadn't dared hope you might land a job after your first interview."

"Neither me," Tom confessed. "I think my political knowledge and mentioning some of the contacts I have, made all the difference. And," he countered, "I have the generous man that is Lieutenant Napier to thank for quite a few of those!"

"Evelyn!" Sybil's voice caught. "You know his situation has deteriorated, don't you. Isobel heard from Sarah-Jane again this morning and his fever has worsened again the last few days."

"I do," Tom replied quietly. "Lady Edith has been keeping me informed. Please, if you see him, give him my very best wishes. And my thanks!"

"Of course," Sybil replied fervently. She paused, and then picking up on their conversation again, she said, "Well, you must say yes."

"Are you sure?"

"I am. And this is when you need to hear my news too. Doctor Jones has offered me a trainee physical therapy position, here at Shepherd's Bush hospital."

"I told you he would!" Tom's voice was full of admiration.

"Oh Tom! I'm so excited! And… well it's a bit more than just a job," Sybil explained. "He said that if I can pass preparatory examinations at Bedford College in mathematics and science, they will support me to complete a degree in physical education."

Tom whistled. "That is fantastic, my girl. So they will let you study while you continue to work?"

"Yes! I'll have time off for classes," Sybil said, unable to contain her enthusiasm.

There was a silence on the line, both of them contemplating the future that was now unfolding before them.

Then they both spoke at once, and laughing, Tom said, "You go first this time!"

"Very well. I was just saying, I finally talked to Mary. It took a bit, but she is going to support us. Matthew suggested we all meet and discuss how to best approach things with Papa and Mama. So, dearest, can you come to London?"

"When?" Tom asked.

"How about now?" Sybil replied.

0-0-0-0-0-0

"What is the meaning of this?" Mary said, a little irritated that Matthew was intent on them meeting Branson and Sybil in a public house.

He and Sybil had returned from the physical therapy appointment at the hospital to the news that Tom was on the ten o'clock train and would be able to meet them early afternoon.

"It's neutral ground," he said shortly. "Tom is already nervous about what you are going to say! Better he is in an environment that feels normal to him, than in the overly refined atmosphere of this hotel."

"Funny how you think he's the one that needs to be comfortable. What about me? Or Sybil for that matter!" Mary replied caustically.

Matthew rolled his eyes. "Oh, pray. Who has the upper hand here? Climb down off your high horse. And besides: If you want to be the land agent for Downton and you want to be able to relate to the working men central to your dealings, you better get used to being in a public house: it's where the business happens!"

"Perhaps that's where men conduct their business, but I have no intention of it being where I conduct mine!" Mary said lifting her chin.

"My dear, have this conversation with Jarvis. And the day that you do, remind me to be a fly on the wall: I'll be listening in with great interest," Matthew said sarcastically.

But Mary didn't rise to the bait. Instead she was looking at him with a strange expression. "Matthew," she said, her voice suddenly uncertain. "Is it really where working men conduct their business?"

Her naivety disarmed him, and he began to laugh.

"My dear, I forget sometimes that you and I have been raised so very differently," he said, reaching across to take her hand. "I don't know why I forget, given the only time I have ever seen your father in a pub was for our returned servicemen's Christmas function!"

"But you yourself aren't a pub man," Mary said frowning.

"I used to be," Matthew replied. "I spent quite a bit of time in public houses as a student and then early in my working life." He paused and looked at her contemplatively. "In fact it was only when I came to Downton that I stopped going as often."

"And I wonder how much that had to do with the quality of Papa's wine cellar?" Mary teased, and Matthew had the grace to blush.

"Hmm," he said and quickly changed the subject. "Getting back to your question, a lot of business does happen in a public house. It's not the only place it happens of course, but it can be particularly important in a small place like Downton. And an important place to pick up on local news! You will need to understand that in taking on your new role," he patted her hand. "So, my darling, can you grin and bear it today, and perhaps use the experience as a study in what might be to come?"

Mary smiled and sighed. "Well I'm going to have to won't I? And in return for me foregoing my own sense of comfort, I have a favour to ask."

"And what might that be?" Matthew gazed at her, his blue eyes sparkling.

"Some insights into the British working man," Mary's lips twitched. "And how I might best approach my new role, including this matter of going to pubs, when I am a married woman with a title."

0-0-0-0-0-0

"Well this isn't too bad," Mary said, looking a little warily around the cosy public house where they were shortly to meet Tom and Sybil.

"Most of them are not," Matthew said with a grin. "Many, in fact, are quite genteel! And we must order from the bar. So Lady Mary," he said tongue in cheek. "What may I get you?"

"I think we might need some champagne," Mary said crisply. "We are supposed to be celebrating are we not? The engagement of my youngest sister to an Irish revolutionary? I think I'm going to need some champagne just to get through the next few hours!"

Matthew chuckled. "Very well. I'll see what I can do," and he made his way up to the bar. Returning a few minutes later, he announced "Lucky for you, they had a bottle of Krug! He'll bring it out shortly for us."

Mary took the opportunity while they were waiting to ask him a little more about his physical therapy appointment.

"It was quite reassuring," Matthew said. "It is very different to what I have been doing, because I am pretty much starting from scratch trying to get my legs moving, before I can even think about building strength. But I made a little bit of progress even in the hour we were there, so I feel more confident about it all."

"I'm really glad to hear that," Mary said fervently. "And you must give yourself lots of time. It isn't going to be a fast process."

Matthew nodded. "That was the other thing Miss Lewis, the therapist discussed. She said it's best to measure progress weekly, not daily."

"And is Sybil confident in what she has to do?" Mary asked.

"She seems to be. Miss Lewis is going to support her and provide some review – Doctor Jones has organised for that specially given she will be joining Miss Lewis's team come May in any case."

The champagne arrived at the same time as Tom and Sybil: the sight of the bottle and glasses being placed on the table put Tom at a little more ease as he and Sybil came in: he had been jittery on the train, worried about Lady Mary's sharp tongue and just what it was he might have to weather.

The four of them sat silently at first, and Matthew busied himself pouring glasses for them all.

"Well," he said at last. "Let's start as we mean to continue. Congratulations Tom and Sybil, and Tom, welcome to the family!" He raised his glass giving Mary a furtive sideways glance as he did so, and elbowing him slightly in reply, she made herself follow suit. "Congratulations to you both," she echoed. "And welcome Branson, Tom I mean, I'll need to call you Tom now won't I?" and she even managed a smile.

Their olive branch did the trick, and the four of them relaxed and talked easily for some time, before Mary cleared her throat and said, "I hate to be the devil's advocate, but whilst I have now been convinced, reluctantly I might add, of your real affection for my sister, we know that my parents, not to mention Granny, won't be seeing this in quite the same way. What are you proposing to do? I would hate to see this break up the family."

"We don't want that either," Tom said quickly. "I had intended to talk to Lord Grantham, but with what's happened…"

"Of course. It has complicated things," Mary frowned, thinking for a moment. But while it's complicated things, it just might make things a little easier too," she mused.

"How?" Sybil asked intently.

"Well, how about you both talk first to Mama? She's American. She's far less likely to go off like Papa would. And if she supports you, as I suspect she eventually will, she can deal with Papa. He would have to come round, things being as they are…" Mary's voice trailed off.

"Oh, of course," Sybil replied, immediately getting the hidden message. Whilst still unclear on exactly what had transpired, she knew her father had wronged her mother in some way. Her father was therefore more likely to mind the views of his wife at a time when he would need to make amends. Hmm. It could work.

"What I would like to know Tom," Mary continued, "Is how you are going to provide for Sybil. She may have simpler tastes than I, but she is still accustomed to a certain standard of living and…"

"Oh, for goodness sake, Mary!" Sybil blushed deep red. "I don't need frills! I will be quite happy with just a roof over my head!"

"A Chauffeur's salary barely provides a roof!" Mary said hotly.

Tom held his hand up. "Lady Mary," he began.

"Mary please," Mary interrupted. "Since you are to be family."

Tom blushed. "Very well. Today I accepted a post as a journalist at the _Daily Herald_ here in London. I start in a month. I will be handing my resignation to Lord Grantham tomorrow, and before you worry, it will not be a shock to him: I have made no secret of the fact my job at the Abbey was always just a stepping stone. The journalist salary is modest, but far more significant than a Chauffeur's wage, and it is enough for us to live on."

"You got it!" Matthew grinned. "Congratulations!"

"Thank you. And thank you for all your encouragement to give it a go. It's meant a lot to me Captain."

"Matthew for god's sake."

"No. Not until you are demobbed," Tom said firmly. "You and Lieutenant Napier. Your friendship and counsel has meant so much."

Sybil felt a little teary watching their interchange. She could see Matthew was touched by Tom's words: His gesture, unexpected for a man who railed against titles and the strictures of forms of address, not to mention the very concept of warfare and the military, was entirely about the depth of respect and the esteem in which he held Matthew and Evelyn.

She swallowed. "Mary, I hope this is reassuring," she said cautiously. "I found out about my salary this morning too: to start with it is similar to what I am getting now, as Doctor Jones has taken into account my work with the trial. At the end of my apprenticeship, assuming I also complete my degree, it will be a lot higher than I could ever command as a senior nurse," she smiled. "We will be able to live not just modestly but comfortably."

Mary deliberated on what they had both said, looking from one to another.

"Well," she said at last. "A middle class existence in London," she pursed her lips. "There must be some way we can make that work for the family!"

"Thank you," Tom said fervently. "I mean it Lady Mary, I mean Mary," he said hurriedly. "Having your support as well as the Captain's," he glanced at Sybil and took her hand. "It means a lot."

Mary acknowledged his words with a brief nod, and then the four of them began to plan exactly how and when to broach the topic with the wider family. Tom stayed on for dinner: Sergeant Barrow managed to secure a late booking for them all at Frascati's, which Sybil and Isobel particularly enjoyed, exclaiming in delight at the meal, the ambience, and the live music.

Mary was happy for them: she realised with a jolt that it had been more than a year since Isobel had had more than a day away from her work at Downton, and likewise her younger sister. She marvelled how things could change so, in just a few short days. Her father was back with her mother, albeit uneasily. Carlisle's games were in the process of being stymied, buying them all a little time at least for now, and best of all, she and Matthew could look forward to children, and Matthew to further recovery. And here was her sister walking willingly and happily into a working future, arm in arm with a man from a background vastly different to her own. And how happy she was! Hmm. It struck her, all of a sudden, that the 1920's would be very exciting and very different indeed.

0-0-0-0-0-0

They arrived back at the hotel just after eleven, but neither of them were ready for sleep: The lively political discussion spearheaded by Isobel and Tom that had spanned much of the evening, put paid to that, so after Barrow and Anna left them, they lay on the bed talking and arguing together about women's rights and the Irish situation for another good hour.

Silent finally, Mary surveyed her husband through half closed eyes.

"Well, my darling? What might we do now?"

"I can think of a few things," he murmured, and he sat up, his golden hair shining in the glow from the lamp. Mary instinctively followed suit.

They faced each other on top of the bed, enjoying looking at one another and then Matthew said, "lets do this with clothes off," his voice so low and sexy that Mary felt each and every word caressing her body and heating it up. They moved closer together and undressed each other, slowly, sensuously, continuing to gaze into each other's eyes.

Matthew could feel his breath quickening, and his hands started to tremble slightly as he undid the front of her gown and lifted it off, over her head. He gasped a little as he drank in her creamy white skin, rounded breasts and the luxuriant triangle of glossy black curls between her shapely thighs.

She was exquisite and he felt almost overwhelmed with happiness. She saw his love. Saw the need in his beautiful blue eyes, and she reached across and quickly unbuttoned his pyjama jacket, smoothing it down off his muscular arms, her fingers brushing his skin seductively.

She ran her fingers gently down the sides of his face, tracing his eyebrows, the smooth skin of his cheeks and those oh so perfect lips. And then she began to kiss him, her tongue finding his and exploring his mouth with a vigour that made him weak with desire. He fell back with a growl, pulling her on top of him. They continued to kiss, and then Matthew grasped one of Mary's hands and guided it down to the waistband of his trousers. "My pants," he murmured, and with a lustful smirk, Mary sat up, and began to undo the buttons. She fixed her eyes on his as she gently slid them off and then she lowered her head down to his groin and began to kiss him there.

"God Mary!" he breathed as he watched her dark head moving low across his body and felt her hair falling against his skin, softly caressing his abdomen. She moved up his body a little, kissing him around his waist where she knew he was particularly sensitive, and the feel of her soft, warm mouth against his skin sent a wave of heat coursing through his body. He arched against her, intoxicated. "Woman, what are you doing to me?" he gasped. She continued, the passion she was so clearly unleashing in him heightening her own arousal.

She moved up beside him pressing her body against his, and then she took him in her hand and began working him with quite some vigour. He growled again, a hand trailing feather light along the curve of her hip, the other stroking one of her breasts and teasing her nipples with his fingers. She moaned, her eyes darkening, and he reached out and drew her face gently to his so that he could kiss her again. Her kissing was sensuous and highly erotic. He felt her tongue dancing with his. He moaned and arched with pleasure, and she was enthralled when she felt him harden even more in her hand. They broke apart momentarily, foreheads touching, delighting in being so intimate with each other, before resuming their impassioned kissing, and it was not long at all before she felt him begin to pulse and jerk and spill. Letting out a ragged groan, he pulled her so tightly to him that for a moment she couldn't breathe.

She kissed him hard, her body hot and aching for him now, but there were some practicalities to attend to, so she reluctantly untangled his arms and rolled off the bed to find a flannel. She threw it at him so he could clean himself up. "Not too much wrong there!" she teased, hopping back into bed beside him. He poked his tongue out at her. "Not when I am with you! Now turn around," he said breathily. "I want to taste you." The hunger in his eyes sent a powerful thrill through Mary's body and trembling, she moved to position herself over him. He pulled her down and pushed her legs apart, his hands tracking up the insides of her thighs, making her skin prickle and the ache in her body intensify.

She gasped as she felt Matthew's tongue start exploring her centre, and she writhed with pleasure as he began to circle her sweet spot. He worked her, quickly, expertly and she pressed her body into his, enjoying his scent, the salty taste of his skin on her lips, and the feel of his silky blond hair brushing her thighs. God he was beautiful.

His hands were kneading her bottom and the slight prickle of his chin against her centre aroused her even further. Her heart began to pound and he worked her harder now and within minutes she went flying over the edge, her body arching and bucking with the intensity of her orgasm. She uttered a loud moan, and collapsed, spent on top of him. He coughed, and moved her slightly so that he could breathe. And then he chuckled. "You almost drowned me, you witch."

"You wanted it," she murmured, idly stroking his thighs, her head resting on his stomach.

"I did," he agreed softly. When her breathing finally began to quieten, he asked, "Have I tired you out?"

"Perhaps!" Mary extricated herself from him with a groan and came to lie the right way beside him.

"Sleep?" she ran a hand lightly across his chest.

"Only after another kiss," he said batting his eyelashes at her, and growling, she obliged.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Reggie Swire did not look at all well, and Matthew was very glad they had been able to make the opportunity to visit him so soon after receiving his invitation. He had a strong sense the man didn't have long. _I do hope he lives to see Lavinia married_, Matthew thought to himself. Despite his frailty, Reggie greeted them both enthusiastically, and spent a pleasant few minutes sharing with Isobel the latest on Lavinia and Jonathan's wedding plans, knowing that would interest her.

"She's planning some music for the breakfast," he said fondly of his daughter. "One of her friends from the college will play the piano, and another is to sing. I heard them recently at a concert and they were very good."

"How delightful," Isobel said. "And are they still planning to return to Manchester?"

The old man nodded. "They are. Although not immediately now, as Jonathan has been offered a promotion at the bank here."

Isobel and Matthew gave each other a fleeting glance: the subtext was clear. Lavinia and Jonathan were choosing to remain in London for the time being so as to be close to him.

Reggie's manservant arrived with the tea tray, and after the cups had been poured and handed around, Reggie looked across at his guests and said, "Matthew. You are probably wondering why I was so very keen to see you."

"I have an inkling, Sir," Matthew replied. "Lavinia said at our wedding you were keen to hear more about the work Evelyn and I have been doing supporting wounded soldiers back to work."

"Good, good," Reggie replied. "That is indeed why I wanted to see you. Viscount Branksome has been most effusive in his admiration of what you are doing. And I understand you have now managed to place about thirty men into work?" Matthew nodded. "An extraordinary achievement in rural Yorkshire," Reggie smiled. He paused for a minute, a frown replacing the smile. Although I heard through the grapevine that young Evelyn is not at all well?"

Matthew shook his head. "No. He's not," he said grimly. "He's had a major setback. It's required a further operation, and now he is fighting sepsis. It is very serious. But he is still with us, and I am quietly hopeful he is going to pull through," he swallowed. It was an effort to speak calmly of Evelyn's situation. Every time he was reminded of the hell his friend was in, he found himself either furious or choking up. Or both.

"This must be very hard for you, very hard indeed, Matthew," Reggie Swire said quietly. "And it is exactly why I want to do something!" His frown deepened, and he continued. "You probably know that like your cousin Lord Grantham, I too, fought in the Boer war." Matthew and Isobel nodded.

"A number of my friends fought alongside me there, and two dear friends were seriously wounded. Both of them were men who needed to earn an income to provide for their families. Like most people, employment was their means to security.

"When they returned from that war, one blinded, the other an amputee, there was nothing available to them. Unable to return to their previous well-paid jobs, I'd say through nothing but sheer prejudice when I look back now, they and their families were forced to try and survive on a paltry war pension. And neither of them had the benefit of proper rehabilitation. One lost his mind. He died in an asylum six years after the war ended. The other died three years after the war, leaving a young family in a destitute state. I always thought it was from despair." Reggie Swire's voice faded for a moment, and Isobel and Matthew could see the deep sadness etched into his face. Isobel murmured, 'tsk tsk' in in a placating tone.

"At that point in my life I was not a rich man," he continued, his eyes a little moist now. "I did what I could, where I could to help. But it was not enough," he swallowed. He took a deep breath, coughing a little and then he lifted his chin a little higher and gazed across at them.

"But now I am a rich man," he said resolutely. "And Britain has just limped its way out of a devastating war. They say now it may be as high as one and a half million men in our country alone left with permanent wounds.

"Matthew, I don't have long left on this earth. I would like to bequeath some of my fortune towards these men."

"But… Lavinia…?" Matthew began. Reggie Swire chuckled. "My dear boy. Rest assured that Lavinia and her future children are very well provided for. I am in the lucky position of having funds to spare. And it is important that you know it was Lavinia herself, who on becoming aware of my intentions insisted a full half of my legacy go towards this cause."

"50 percent?" Matthew was stunned.

Reggie Swire nodded. "She was insistent."

"I am humbled by your generosity," Matthew said at last. "Deeply humbled. And of Lavinia's kindness of spirit!" he swallowed.

Reggie Swire reached for a file from the table alongside him, and opening it, he removed a paper and with a shaking hand, passed it across to Matthew.

"This is a statement of my assets as they currently stand. There will be some slight variance, of course, come the time, but this gives you an idea of the sum you can expect. Matthew read quickly through the statement, his eyes widening as he went. It was an eye-watering sum. He whistled and shook his head.

"Sir," he said cautiously. "This is extraordinary!" He frowned. "I do hope I can do right by you, and ensure these funds are used wisely."

"Of course. And to that end, my boy, I would like you to tell me more of what you are doing. I would like to know what is most challenging, and where and how a bequest of this size could make the biggest difference.

"I would also like your advice on a suitable governance structure through which to safeguard the funds for use in the manner I intend. If I can work with you to achieve that and see it clearly set out in my will and testament, then I will be content to go peacefully to my grave."

Matthew stared back at the older man, acutely aware now of what this meant to him. He took a deep breath, and thinking carefully, began to explain what they were doing, and the situations where they were finding it most difficult to place former soldiers into meaningful work. As they talked, Isobel chipped in with helpful suggestions: as a nurse she had gained quite an insight into the mindset of some of her soldier patients, not to mention the often distraught conversations she was party to, with family and friends of the wounded. They talked for almost an hour, and then aware that Reggie was tiring, Matthew agreed to summarise their discussion in a letter that Reggie could talk through with both Lavinia and his solicitor.

Both of them were quiet in the taxi back to their hotel. "The generosity of that man," Matthew said at last. "And Lavinia too! We will be able to do so much with what he intends to provide. It's just sad that he won't be alive to see the benefit of it."

"As he said, my dear, this gesture will help him leave this world for the next in a state of peace," Isobel said gently. "That is surely reward enough. My hope is that he just hangs on long enough to see his dear daughter married."

"Of course," Matthew sighed. "She only has her father. No brothers or sisters. No mother," he pursed his lips. "Remind me to write to her, will you Mother? I want to thank her too."

Isobel gave Matthew a thoughtful look. "Do you know how else you might recognise her contribution?"

"How?" Matthew asked.

"Invite her to become a Trustee. She, more than any other, is best placed to know her father's wishes for the use of this fund. Through her, he can have a voice beyond his passing."

"That, dear Mother, is a brilliant idea! And I know it is one Evelyn would support too. I'll put that in my letter back to Reggie. I imagine that will please him very much."

0-0-0-0-0-0

They returned to Downton via York on Sunday afternoon so that they could visit Evelyn again. Sarah-Jane caught them up with his situation: it was not good.

"You won't be able to stay long," Sarah-Jane's voice shook. "He can only take a few minutes of talking."

"Of course," Matthew replied solemnly. Sarah-Jane looked completely exhausted, and it was evident from her roughly pinned hair and rumpled clothes that she had been at Evelyn's bedside all night. He clasped her hands and said, "We're hoping and praying with you my dear!"

"Matthew, he needs to get through this!" she said tearfully. "I couldn't bear it if he didn't!"

Matthew squeezed her hands again. "All of us need him to," he said gently. "Keep strong for him," he looked her in the eye. "Keep believing he's going to get through. That will help him believe it too." She nodded again and gave him a small smile and then the three women ushered her away to take a break.

Matthew shut his eyes momentarily and took a deep breath before wheeling himself down the long ward to Evelyn's bedside.

Evelyn's eyes fluttered open when Matthew greeted him and he managed to smile. "Matthew," he whispered.

"Great to see you old chap," said Matthew gently. "You're hanging in there. Good on you."

Evelyn grimaced slightly, "I suppose. Not out of the woods yet."

"So Sarah-Jane said," Matthew replied. He looked at Evelyn with a shrewd expression. "I've got another reason for you."

"Oh?" Evelyn raised one eyebrow.

"I saw Reggie Swire. He sends his best wishes. As does Tom Branson, by the way. He got the job! And he specifically wanted to thank you for your help." Evelyn gave a slight nod to show he had heard. Matthew swallowed. "Reggie is not at all well. I'd say he has only weeks, but I hope to god for a miracle so that he makes Lavinia's wedding in June for both their sakes," he shook his head. "Anyway, he asked to see me as he wanted to make a bequest. To us! For the Trust we have set up. And," Matthew leaned forward. "He is leaving us 100,000 pounds."

"100,000?" Evelyn's eyes widened.

"I'm not kidding. He got in early with Anglo-Persian Oil. Invested alongside William D'Arcy way back. So you have to get better. Imagine how much good we can do with that as a capital investment! But I need your brain on it. You always have the best ideas."

"Bloody hell. 100,000," Evelyn said again and he began to smile. "Thanks for that old chap. It's a great reason!" and Matthew laughed.

They talked a few minutes longer, and Matthew was able to share the good news he had had from Doctor Jones, which brought another smile to Evelyn's face.

"Perhaps you and I could make a wager," he murmured.

"What do you mean?" Matthew quizzed.

"First one back on their feet. Or in my case, foot."

"How much?" Matthew frowned.

"Fifty quid?"

"Not exciting enough," Matthew pursed his lips.

"All right. Weekend with their lady at the Savoy."

Matthew grinned. "That's more like it. Methinks it will be me paying up for that somehow! And you better bloody make it so, all right?"

"You're on," Evelyn smiled again and shut his eyes.

"Sorry Matthew. I've had it."

"Of course," Matthew said and he clasped Evelyn's hand. "Take care old chap. Think of ways we could use that fund all right? I have to write back to Reggie Swire, and I'd like to include your ideas."

"I will," Evelyn said. "And come and see me again soon."


	39. Chapter 39

"Well, I must say I am very shocked," Cora's mouth set in a thin line as she looked from her daughter to Branson and back again. The three of them were seated alone in the drawing room: Sybil resolute and upright, Tom leaning forward, nervously tapping his fingertips together. It was Wednesday afternoon and Robert was out with Jarvis meeting with a tenant farmer.

"You are not making your life easy Sybil!" Cora continued in an admonishing tone. "You might have got away with this in America, but here? It will be viewed as a scandal! The daughter of an Earl running off with her Papa's chauffeur! Doors will be slammed shut in your face! No welcome at court!"

"I am choosing this Mama," Sybil lifted her chin. "I don't care about doors shutting in my face. And I am not running off! If you must know, it was Tom himself who said that wasn't the way to do things! I have been so angry with Papa, disappearing when you were still so ill after the 'flu, that I was all ready to elope! But Tom didn't want that."

Cora swallowed at the reference to Robert and the recent trouble he had foisted so shockingly upon her. "Is that true?" she frowned at Tom, but her voice had softened a little. He nodded.

"Lady Grantham. I know this is hard. I know it is not the done thing. But I love your daughter and I will do everything I can to be the very best husband to her."

He cleared his throat. "I am not sure if Lord Grantham has said," he began "But I have handed in my resignation..." Cora interrupted, cross again, "Well, of course, you had to in the circumstances!"

Tom shook his head. "Lady Grantham," he said politely. "You misunderstand me. Lord Grantham does not yet know of our plans. I resigned as I have been appointed to a position as a journalist for the _Daily Herald_ in London."

"You are to become a journalist?" Cora looked at him in surprise. Sybil felt a sudden flash of hope: she could see her mother was impressed by Tom's disclosure.

"Yes Lady Grantham," Tom answered. "A political journalist to be specific. I start in a month's time. I know a journalist's salary is not much compared to the income of an Earl, but it is sufficient for a family as long as we live modestly."

"And you have come to me first," she said. "Lord Grantham has not yet been told."

She deliberated for a minute, pursing her lips. "Very well. You will need to give me time to think on this."

"Just how long, Mama?" Sybil asked cautiously. "What with all the changes ahead and us both to begin new jobs, it would be nice to settle things soon."

"Just as long as it takes me to work out how to raise this matter with your father!" Cora said, the edge back in her voice. Tom and Sybil looked at each other with chastened expressions, and Cora softened her tone.

"I'm sorry. That was unnecessarily harsh," she shook her head.

"Mama, please don't apologise. I know this is a difficult time!" Sybil's eyes filled with tears and she resolved to ask her mother in private what on earth had transpired. Cora's misery had been tempered slightly when Robert first returned, but in the last few days, tempers had flared again, including a terrible afternoon when Sybil could hear her parents shouting at each other as she tried to tend a patient in the convalescent home. She had been so embarrassed she had handed the patient to another nurse on the pretence of needing to make an urgent phone call, and run from the ward.

Cora felt a strong sense of remorse seeing her daughter's distress on her behalf. Drat Robert and what he had done! He had upset the whole family! She took a deep breath and thought for a moment. "My dear," she said finally. "Try not to worry about me. Your father and I will work out our differences in time. And I will try and talk with him soon about your intentions," she said sighing a little at the unpleasant prospect of having to face Robert losing his temper on yet another matter. She looked across at them both. "What will help me is if I understand a little more about the practicalities. When is it that you intend to marry, and where?"

"We thought it might help both families if we wed in Dublin," Tom began. "A small wedding. Sybil can stay with my mother and I will stay with my brother until the ceremony. We are looking at early May, just before Sybil begins her new job."

"Is your family aware of your plans?" Cora asked. Tom shook his head. "Not yet. We wanted to talk with you and Lord Grantham first."

Cora nodded and contemplated them both silently. "Very well," she said at last. "This is what we shall do. I want you both to visit Granny and tell her of your plans directly. Tell her everything you have told me. Do not expect her to support you, but I feel it is important she is in the picture.

"And Branson, please write to your mother now: if this is really what you both want, there is nothing that we can do to stop it, and likewise your mother. Best we just hope this can be achieved with both families remaining intact!

"And for the meantime, leave Robert to me. He will obviously wish to speak with you too, but with a bit of luck I can spare you a little of his vitriol."

0-0-0-0-0-0

Mary closed her file and sat back covering her eyes with her hand. She felt deeply concerned. Of the estate's eighteen tenant farms, only two were making what she considered a satisfactory return on capital: Drewe's and Mason's. Drake's wasn't too bad, but all the rest were barely breaking even, and three were running at a loss. Eight of the eighteen were in rent arrears to some degree: the three running at a loss the worst. What shocked her most was her check back through the historical records: the situation had been going on for years like this and nothing had been done.

When she had started out, she had been hoping that this might have been the part of the estate's operation making at least some profit: profit desperately needed to fund the overdue maintenance on the rental properties. Clearly, that was not to be. She stood up and began to pace. Matthew had been right. Downton was being mismanaged. She felt suddenly afraid. If this unsatisfactory situation had been left to continue for the estate's farms and the houses, what of the investments? What if Papa was making mistakes there too? She walked across to the window and looked out, thinking hard. She wished Matthew were home. Suppressing her irritation at having to wait till day's end, she returned to the desk. Taking up her pen, she began to write.

0-0-0-0-0-0

James Jordan sat down at the dinner table with a sigh of relief. It had been a tough day at Brierly Groom architecture, where he was a Principal. The new boy that had employed as a trainee draughtsman had confused the measurements on a crucial set of drawings. He had to organise for them to be urgently redone, and as a result, he had been late home, missing his favourite ritual of the day: a glass of claret with his dear wife in the sun room of their comfortable York home.

"Charlotte had an outing with that young man again today," Cecile, his wife said, smiling indulgently at her pretty seventeen-year-old daughter.

"Oh?" James smiled fondly. "Chaperoned I hope!"

"Of course, Father!" Charlotte giggled. I took Maurice. That's what older brothers are for, aren't they?"

"Where did you go, sweet pea?" her father asked.

"We took a picnic to the Museum gardens," she answered.

"Well, how was it? And how is this young man?"

Charlotte gave a brief smile. "I enjoyed the gardens. I always do! I love the plants and learning about them. But…"

"What is it, my dear?" Cecile asked, perceiving her daughter was bothered.

"Well, it was just, well, he seemed more interested in Maurice than me," she said her voice a little wistful.

Her father started suddenly and seemed about to say something. Thinking better of it, he flicked his eyes at his wife who gave him a barely perceptible nod in return.

"Oh, darling. Sometimes young men are shy. So they talk to their own! What was he asking Maurice about?" Cecile asked lightly.

"Funny questions," she frowned. "Some usual ones like what did he do and where he fought in the army. But then he asked about his staff. He wanted to know all about them!" she shook her head. "Mother, why would that be interesting?"

"Perhaps he is looking to equip his own home," her mother said conversationally. "What did Maurice say in reply, dear?"

"Well, he told him all about them! I think he was pleased to have someone so interested. He does get lonely you know, I see that in him since the war of course…" her voice trailed off.

"Maurice told him all about them?" her mother asked, forgetting to keep her voice light. "What exactly?"

"Well, their names of course, and what they did, and how wonderful they were to him. Things like that." She frowned again. "And then the questions got stranger. He even wanted to know the staff rosters!"

"Did Maurice explain them to him?" her mother asked, glancing in alarm at her husband over her daughter's head.

"No. Maurice started to, and then he stopped suddenly and said he couldn't remember details like that."

"And where did you leave things with Peter?" her mother asked, forcing the light tone back into her voice.

Charlotte sighed. "He said he wants to meet again. But that's the problem, Mother. I thought he wanted to get to know me! But the way he said it… _'Miss Jordan, I look forward to us enjoying another outing with your charming brother,'_ it was like… well," she shrugged. "Like **I** was the extra," and her bottom lip began to wobble.

As Cecile Jordan moved to comfort her daughter, James pushed back his chair and stood up suddenly. "Chin up sweet pea! There will be plenty of other suitors out there for a girl as fine as you, don't you worry about that! And my dears: I'm very sorry but I've just realised I have a work matter that needs attention before the morrow. Please excuse me," and with another furtive glance at his wife, he hurried from the room to the telephone in the hall.

0-0-0-0-0-0

"This is a folly! A ridiculous, juvenile madness!" Robert paced their bedroom scowling. "I won't allow it! I will not allow my daughter to throw away her life!"

"Her mind is made up, Robert," Cora said tightly. "She is of age. There is nothing you can do."

"This is what comes of spoiling her. The mad clothes, the nursing! What were we thinking of?"

"That's not fair. She's a wonderful nurse and she's worked very hard. And look at the doors that have opened to her now as a result!"

"But in the process, she's forgotten who she is," Robert's tone was both angry and sad.

"Has she, Robert? Or have we overlooked who she really is?"

"Oh, Cora. Don't turn American on me!" Robert said, his temper rising again. "I'm going downstairs. It's time to have this out with them both, once and for all!" He turned on his heel and left Cora staring after him sadly, shaking her head.

0-0-0-0-0-0

"You can posture all you like, Papa, it won't make any difference!" Sybil remonstrated with her father. Tom stood by, jittery at the fireplace, clenching and unclenching his fists.

"Oh, yes, it will!" Robert raged.

"How? I don't want any money and you can hardly lock me up until I die!"

"I do hope I'm interrupting something," said a voice, and Violet swept unexpectedly into the room.

"I only wish you were, but I seem to be getting nowhere," Robert turned to his mother harrumphing.

"Shouting and posturing have never flattered you, Robert," Violet said severely. "For goodness sake, calm down!" She walked across to the armchair by the fireplace and sat, laying her stick against the armrest.

"Now we all know that what these two young people intend is foolhardy but surely…"

"It is not foolhardy!" Sybil burst out. "I love Tom! We have thought this through!"

"How dare you be rude to your grandmother!" Robert shouted again.

"Robert. I said calm down!" Violet said her face thunderous now. "Sybil is not being rude. She is trying to make a point. A point I don't agree with, but she and Branson clearly have their minds made up. Now Sybil, can you outline just how you intend this to work?"

Forcing herself to keep her voice even, Sybil explained how she and Tom planned to marry quietly in Dublin and then return to London to live; how the income from their new jobs would ensure they would be able to live comfortably.

"And anyone who wishes to be at our wedding will be very welcome, and of course afterwards at our home in London," she finished.

"Out of the question," Robert snapped.

"Will you forbid Mary and Edith?" Sybil shot back, stung.

"No, don't. Don't Robert!" Violet beseeched. "Don't say anything you may have to retract!"

"The shame she will bring upon this family! After everything we have done for her!" Robert continued hotly. He paused and glared across at his daughter. "Know this: there will be no more money. From here on in, your life will be very different."

His look was so cold, and so unlike the father that she thought she knew, that Sybil felt tears pricking the back of her eyes. This was worse, far worse than she had ever imagined. She fought to keep her voice from wavering, and looking her father directly in the eyes she said, "Well, bully for that." She turned to Tom, her body shaking. And taking his hand the pair of them walked out.

Violet pursed her lips and looked at her son. "Satisfied?" she said, her tone one of barely disguised contempt. "Forcing a split in the family when none is required if you had only applied a cool head! For goodness sake, Robert! Sometimes I am ashamed that you are my son," Violet heaved herself to her feet and took up her stick. And then she, too, walked out.

0-0-0-0-0-0

When the dressing gong went that evening, John Bates made his way slowly up the back stairway to Lord Grantham's dressing room. Entering, he found the room in darkness and he could hear the sound of someone sniffing. He frowned and turned on the light, looking for where the noise was coming from. Lord Grantham was standing hunched over by the window.

"My Lord," he enquired hesitantly. "Is anything the matter?" Robert turned to him and to his chagrin he saw that the man had been crying.

"Everything is the matter, Bates!" Robert said bitterly. "My marriage is in ruins. I am being stalked by a mad man intent on publicly humiliating my family, and my youngest daughter is in the midst of throwing her life away on a commoner!" he began to pace back and forth, "And… and," he tried to suppress a sob, "Yesterday I had a letter from Murray informing me that I have lost a great chunk of Cora's fortune!" and with that tears began to course down his cheeks.

Bates stared at him, his heart going out to the man who had risked his own life to save his. Not once, but twice.

"My Lord," he began. "I'm so terribly sorry! What a burden you are carrying! Here, take a seat. May I get you something… tea? A whisky?"

Robert shook his head, "No, no." He sat heavily and put his face in his hands.

"I've been such a fool, Bates! Cora can never forgive me now!"

Bates stood for a minute. Being a man of little outward emotion himself, he was a little unsure what to do. He thought of Anna then, and what she might recommend. And then he pulled out the stool from under the dresser and sat down opposite his master.

"My Lord," he began gently. "I know things are not right between you and Lady Grantham. But there is one thing I am very sure of."

"And what might that be, Bates? That she despises the very sight of me and wishes that I go away again?" Robert's tone was anguished.

"Not at all, my Lord! I know things are hard. But they were far harder for her when you were not here. What is a certainty is that she does love you. Very much! And knowing that, there will be a way you both can make amends."

"How will she love me now when I have lost so much of her fortune?" Robert sniffed hopelessly. Bates was silent for a long moment. At last, he said, "My Lord, I don't profess to know Lady Grantham's thoughts. But it strikes me she is a woman who would put love ahead of money. Especially when it comes to you."

Robert's head jerked up at Bates words. "Are you sure?" he asked almost desperately. Bates nodded firmly. "Very sure, my Lord."

Later, after Robert had calmed down sufficiently for Bates to help him into white tie, there was a knock at the door.

"Robert?" came Cora's voice. "Are you ready?"

"Almost," he managed to say back, and she came in, her jewels sparkling and her dark blue dress showing off her ageless figure. Robert gave a little gasp on seeing her and Bates could tell he was emotional again.

"My Lord," he said solicitously, "I'll have Carson delay dinner for a half hour," and with a polite nod, he quickly left the room, knowing full well what was to come.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Matthew was lying on the bed when Mary arrived back at their suite just before six o'clock. She was exhausted from her afternoon shift, and a quick glance at Matthew told her that he was much the same.

She undid her apron and kicked off her shoes and flopped onto the bed beside him.

"My darling," she said, frowning at the dark circles under his eyes. "How was work? You look awfully tired."

"Hard," he said turning his head to her with a wry smile. "The unfortunate side effect of my success with Brookby's. Word is getting around and we've had four approaches in the last two days from companies. Two of the requests are for help with mergers. So I have been flat out trying to clear my other work to start on the most urgent of those."

"Well I can't say I'm not thrilled for you," Mary said admiringly. "But you will have to pace yourself! Your health needs to come first. Especially with the demands of this extra therapy," she looked at him thoughtfully. "When are you expecting Alex to start?"

"He's meeting with us next week. And my goodness, we need him! Aside from Charles, who has a full book, some of which is ours with Carlisle of course," he rolled his eyes, "Harold is the only other with specialist knowledge in this area. And his capacity is limited. And…" his voice trailed off and he looked worried.

"What is it Matthew?" she asked reaching out to stroke his cheek.

He took her hand and pressed it to his face, nuzzling it absent-mindedly. "It's just… ," he paused and then decided not to voice his worries about Alex and whether in his present state of mind he would be able to cope with the work.

"Just a bit overwhelming is all," he finished. "Not a quiet day at work, or at home since our honeymoon!"

"It has been rather tumultuous!" Mary said ruefully. "And I must ask you something. Which I fear will add to your burden," she said cautiously.

"I finished my review of the files from Jarvis today," she said her expression grim, "and it's not a pretty picture. In fact, things are far worse than I could ever imagine. And it's made me worry. What is the situation with our investments? Are our funds invested wisely? Or has a similar lack of care being taken to those as I have found with the management of our land and housing assets?"

Matthew started to reply, and then he frowned and said, "Actually I think I saw a letter in my tray when I put my briefcase down. If we are in luck, it might just be the latest statements and I could show them to you."

"Your tray you said?" Mary asked. Matthew nodded, and she hopped off the bed and went next door to his study. Sure enough, there were three letters in the tray on the desk, one of which, she saw immediately, was from Murray.

Matthew sat up with a groan when she came back through, stretching out his arms a little gingerly. He pulled himself back against the pillows, wincing a little.

"You are sore, aren't you?" Mary said sympathetically. She put the letter to the side and climbed up on the bed next to him and began to rub his shoulders. "Sergeant Sybil, to blame?"

"You could say that," Matthew sighed. "It's one particular exercise she has me doing that is really tough. Having to hold myself up on the parallel bars while I try and make my legs work."

"And how is the progress on that front?"

"Little, if anything," he grumbled. "Honestly Mary, it's like trying to wade through treacle."

"Well, they said it would be very tough to start with," Mary said reassuringly. She stopped her rubbing and hugged him. "Being sore shows that you are putting in the effort. Some good has to come of that!"

"I hope so," Matthew sounded a little resigned.

Mary tightened her arms around him. "I know so," she murmured, and after a minute he put his arms over hers and hugged her back.

"Are you ready to take a look at that letter?" Mary asked later when Matthew was finally looking a little more comfortable after the work she had done on his arms and shoulders.

"I am," he answered. He picked the letter up from the bedside table, removed it from its envelope and smoothed it out. There were two sheets inside. The first was a letter from Murray and Matthew inhaled sharply as he saw the heading: _"Losses from Bankruptcy of the Canadian Grand Trunk Railway."_

"Oh no," he muttered. He quickly read it through and then turned his attention to the investment statement that followed.

"Oh, thank God," he sighed heavily. "Not so bad." He looked up at Mary, who was watching him anxiously. "Well," he began shaking his head slightly. "I hadn't quite expected that in receiving Murray's letter!"

"What, Matthew?" Mary bit out. And Matthew quickly explained.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Mary thought her mother looked particularly pretty that evening in her dark blue gown and the sapphire and diamond necklace Robert had given her on the occasion of their 20th wedding anniversary. She spent a lot of the meal looking at her, as there was an undercurrent between her parents that she couldn't make out. Her father was clearly distressed by something: her mother was cross too, but also strangely protective in the way she was addressing her father.

Mary wondered if Sybil's absence was deliberate, as she and Edith had received a tearful account from their sister of how badly things had gone with Papa earlier in the day. But then she remembered she had seen Sybil's name on the nursing roster for the evening. That was something, she supposed: absent for a real reason. She, Matthew and Edith made small talk when they could at the table, but much of the meal was eaten in an atmosphere of strained silence.

Mary shot Matthew a look when she went through to the drawing room with her mother and sister, and he gave her the slightest nod in reply. Yes, he knew something was up too, and he was going to see if he could talk to Robert and get to the bottom of it.

Carson entered with cigars and whisky. Robert lit up immediately, and Matthew saw that his hands were shaking slightly. He frowned. What was going on?

Matthew declined the cigar but accepted the whisky. Nursing the tumbler in his hands, he sat back and gazed across at his father in law.

"Robert," he said solicitously. "You seem a little out of sorts. What is it?"

"You've heard of this folly between Sybil and Branson?" Robert said.

Matthew nodded, deliberately keeping his face neutral.

Robert continued. "Oh, it's not that! Sybil has always been independently spirited. As her mother tried to tell me, this really shouldn't have been a surprise…" his voice trailed off. "It's… well, have you read Murray's letter?" Robert said tightly

"Yes, I have, but…" Matthew started to say, but Robert interrupted him.

"It's a disaster! Losing such a huge chunk of her fortune," he looked at Matthew his face anguished. "Funds we can't afford to do without."

Matthew was frowning back at him, his expression slightly puzzled.

"Robert," he said slowly. "Did you read the whole letter? And the investment statement?"

"What do you mean? I read enough!"

"I don't think you did!" Matthew countered. "The railway investment is completely lost, but that decision you took to diversify the funds protected you. There are some big gains, of a magnitude that greatly compensate for the loss if you look at the share value!"

"Matthew, I'm not following," Robert threw his hands up.

"Wait here," Matthew said and he pushed back from the table, wincing in the process. "I'll go and get it."

"No, no. I'll get it. My copy is just next door," Robert said hurriedly.

When he returned he sat down next to Matthew and the two of them studied the papers.

"See here," Matthew pointed. "See the investment in Coats? And American Viscose? Look at how the share value has increased! Not to mention the forecast dividends! And you also gained with that investment in Morris. They are doing very well with their car sales by the looks.

"If we look at the overall picture and compare the worth of your shares now against the loss on the railway investment, there is a four thousand pound difference. Way below what you had initially invested in the railway." Matthew turned and gave his father in law a reassuring look. "Yes, you have suffered a major loss. But you have also had some significant gains. And on balance, if we take the long-term view Robert, you have not done too badly at all."

0-0-0-0-0-0

"Was it about Sybil?" Mary asked when she and Matthew were back in their sitting room enjoying a night cap before bed.

"Partly. But not really," Matthew replied. "In fact, I got the feeling he was grudgingly starting to accept her and Branson's plans. No. Robert was upset because he hadn't read the papers properly and he thought he had lost a full third of Cora's fortune!

"You should have seen the relief on his face when I explained what the situation actually was," Matthew shook his head.

"He has you to thank for it all, however," Mary said drily. "If you hadn't encouraged him to diversify the funds in the first place..."

"That's not quite right," Matthew frowned. "Remember, it was him who came to me asking for advice in the first place. Yes, admittedly he had been of a mind to ignore Murray's counsel against placing it all with the trunk railway, but he had second thoughts and realised he wanted another opinion and that's when he got me involved. It was still his call on how much, and where, the funds were invested."

"But you did an awful lot of work on it!" Mary countered.

"I did. But it was research into some alternatives from him. I read up on a number of options, talked with Eddie and Alfred about them too, and prepared him some notes on a set of ten companies we thought were most promising. It was his call which of those he chose.

"So, my darling. Your father is reaping the benefits now! He has lost something, but he has also gained something. And I have a feeling he will recoup that loss fully in the next few years the way these other companies are continuing to grow."

0-0-0-0-0-0

Her father was the only one in the dining room next morning when Sybil arrived for breakfast. She stopped in the doorway, unsure what to do. To her relief, Robert looked up at her and smiled.

"Come on in, my dear," he said. "I'm not going to bite!"

She served herself breakfast and sat down. They ate in silence for a while, and then Robert looked up from his meal and across at his daughter.

"My dear. I want to apologise for my behaviour yesterday," he said uncomfortably. "I am cross about the choice you are making, but I had no right to speak to you quite as I did," he swallowed, feeling a wave of remorse at the cruel way in which he had addressed his youngest daughter.

"Thank you, Papa," Sybil said tightly.

Robert stood then and rang the bell. When Carson arrived he said, "Carson. Would you mind fetching Branson? I need to see him."

"Of course, my Lord," Carson said, the slightest note of disapproval in his voice.

Sybil nervously sipped her tea, unsure what might be coming. Tom arrived a few minutes later. Entering the room, he bowed stiffly to Robert and said politely, "You sent for me, my Lord?"

"I did. Take a seat, Branson. Now tell me exactly what you both intend." Tom and Sybil looked at each other. Sybil gave him the briefest nod, and Tom began, explaining where and when they were looking to marry and the steps he was taking to find them a suitable flat in London close to transport to Shepherd's Bush for Sybil's work.

"And your minds are made up?" Robert asked, looking from Branson to his daughter and back again. They both nodded firmly.

"Well," Robert sighed. "If I can't stop you, I see no profit in a quarrel. You'll have a very different life from the one you might have lived, but if you're sure it's what you want Sybil..."

"I am," Sybil looked at Branson with a smile.

"Then you have my blessing, whatever that means."

"Oh, Papa. It means more than anything!" Sybil stood up and went to her father, hugging him.

Tom smiled at them. Robert looked across at him, smiling a little, too.

"And know this Branson. "If you mistreat her, I will personally have you torn to pieces by wild dogs."

"I'd expect no less," Tom's smile grew a little a little wider, and the two men shook hands.


	40. Chapter 40

"He's too vulnerable!" Thomas said, a catch in his voice. "He can't always tell about people… I mean, if he could see properly…"

"Well the good thing is he knows now," Matthew said, trying to be reassuring.

"But what if that bastard threatens him?" Thomas wiped his eyes angrily. "Or tries to blackmail his staff?"

Matthew shook his head. "I don't know. You mentioned that Mr Jordan said Mr Carter was going to talk to them all? Knowing Charles, he will be doing that with some sort of plan in mind. With a bit of luck, they might be able to turn the tables on this so-called 'Peter' chap and find out who's putting him up to it!"

Matthew had returned from his morning physical therapy to find Barrow laying out his work clothes in the dressing room, visibly upset. Maurice's father, James Jordan, had called early, warning him to be on his guard. There was concern that a young suitor of Maurice's sister Charlotte was actually an accomplice of Carlisle: the man now had the names of his staff and Maurice was devastated that he had allowed himself to be misled.

"It's another blow. It's not like he's got much confidence anymore anyway!" Thomas sniffed.

Matthew frowned. "Has he got work? Something that can keep his mind off all this?"

"No. He was training to be an architect before the war. But now…" Thomas shrugged and threw up his hands.

Matthew shut his eyes for a minute. _The fucking war,_ he thought. _Another destroyed life. How could a man with partial sight possibly be an architect?_ And now, just to add to his misery, Maurice had become an unwitting pawn in Carlisle's cruel game. No wonder Thomas was beside himself.

"What do you want to do?" he asked at last. "Could you ask Major Clarkson for a day's leave?" He looked at him, thinking. "In fact, you really need to be in York when Charles is. Best you are in on any plans that are made."

"That's going to go across well, isn't it," Thomas said under his breath. "Major Clarkson, Sir, please allow me a day off to comfort my lover."

Matthew rolled his eyes. "Don't you have a cousin in York? Someone you have taken time off before to look after?" he said, his tone gently reproving.

Thomas started and looked at Matthew. He swallowed and shook himself. "My apologies, Sir. I forgot myself. Of course."

Matthew gave him a brief smile. "I'll find out from Charles when you need to be there. I'll telephone later, all right? And for now, I really need to get ready for work."

"Thank you, Sir," Thomas said. "I mean it. You are very kind." He looked at Matthew closely. "Are you sure you are up to work?" he said concerned. "You look done in!"

"I am," Matthew sighed. "But there's too much on. And it's only muscle soreness."

"If you remember last time, you needed a lot of extra sleep to help you recover early on," Thomas frowned. "When are you going to get that?"

Matthew shrugged. "I don't know. But it can't be today."

"Well, let's see if a hot shower can help at least a little," Thomas said, and he wheeled Matthew through to the bathroom.

0-0-0-0-0-0

"So, Lady Mary," Jarvis said, walking back into his office shrugging off his coat as he went. "That's all of it! I hope that has put you properly in the picture."

"Very much so," Mary said formally. "I appreciate you taking the time to show me through them all. There is quite a portfolio of properties to manage."

"There is indeed. Indeed," Jarvis nodded. "A lot of work involved."

"Of course," Mary said neutrally. What had become apparent to her early in the first hour of the tour was that Jarvis lacked an eye for detail. Several times she had pointed things out: a broken guttering here; missing roof tiles there; and he had been surprised every time. He had also been rather vague on other matters: when chimneys had last been swept, thatch checked, or tile roofs cleaned. There were a few other things she needed to ask him about, so she hung her coat up on the hook on the wall of his office and sat down at the table, removing her notebook and pen from her leather satchel.

"Jarvis, please tell me about your suppliers," she said crisply. "Who they are, and what they are like."

"Certainly," Jarvis replied. He opened the top drawer of his desk and took out a small box containing a set of trade cards. Taking a card at a time, he said who they were and what they did. He felt slightly disconcerted by the detailed questions Mary put to him: how long had the supplier worked for the estate; what were their rates; had there been any problems with the quality of the work, and where were they based.

Mary's final question was for Jarvis himself. It was a question that her father should have been able to answer, but despite three previous attempts by her, he had not done so. _It's now or never,_ she thought and she took a deep breath.

"Jarvis. I'm sorry but this is a question I feel I must ask, as it pertains to what I might expect by way of wages when you retire at the end of the month and I take over. If you wouldn't mind, may I see your agreement with Lord Grantham for delivery of land agent services, and also, of course, your pay detail?"

Jarvis coloured ever so slightly, but he nodded, unable to think of any good reason to refuse her. She was the boss's daughter after all, and the agent in waiting. He unlocked a cupboard and took out a file, passing it across to her. Mary read through the pages in silence, her face expressionless. Jarvis busied himself at his desk opening the mail and placing each item in the appropriate tray for later follow up.

Finally, Mary looked up. "Thank you, Jarvis," she said and gave him a brief smile. "It has been a most informative morning," and she passed the file back across to him.

She walked home slowly, lost in thought. Once again, Matthew had been right. Jarvis had indeed been very handsomely rewarded for delivery of what, at best, could only be described as a mediocre job. She also had her suspicions about some of the rates he had mentioned paying a number of the suppliers: some appeared rather high. Clearly, it wasn't just him who had been feeding greedily from the estate's trough.

Just outside the gates to the Abbey, she stopped and looked around, taking in the manicured gardens, the grace of the house rising up in the distance, and the peaceful sounds of the birds in the oak trees lining the drive. She loved this place. Yet her heart was heavy. It was going to take a miracle to keep it, Mary realised. And the only two who could be relied upon to make that miracle happen, were she and Matthew.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Matthew was closing up his work files and tidying his desk when the telephone rang late Thursday afternoon.

"Crawley," he answered brusquely, expecting it to be a client.

"Matthew!" said a woman's voice, and after a few seconds of confusion he realised it was Lavinia.

"Lavinia my dear," he said warmly. "How are you?"

"Matthew, I am sorry to have called you at work, but when I telephoned the Abbey Carson said that you wouldn't be home until very late and I wanted to catch you today if I could."

"Of course," Matthew replied. "And you have! For what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Matthew, as you already know, Father is not at all well," she said sadly. "He is fading fast, and Jonathan and I have made the decision to bring our wedding forward. I'm calling around all the guests to let them know."

"Oh my," Matthew replied sympathetically. "We did worry when we saw him."

"We are going to marry this weekend. Saturday afternoon," Lavinia continued.

"This weekend?" Matthew echoed. He paused and thought rapidly. He was sure he and Mary could make it work.

"We'll be there, my dear," he said immediately. "Same place?"

"Yes, we were lucky it was available," Lavinia replied. "And thank you for the letter. I got it and I hope we can talk about it with Father at the Breakfast. We'll need to, things being as they are…" her voice trailed off.

"Of course," Matthew said gently. "Time is of the essence." She gave him the rest of the details about the service, and they bade each other good evening. Matthew hung up the receiver. He leaned back in his chair, feeling sad but also relieved. Reggie would get the pleasure of seeing his only child married after all. That had to be a good thing.

He heard Mary and Tom before he saw them when they arrived twenty minutes later. They were chattering animatedly, and when the door to his office opened and they came through, Mary was flushed and happy, and Tom was wearing a wide grin.

"Just what have you two been up to?" Matthew asked, a little mystified but smiling all the same.

"Guess who drove here?" Mary said playfully.

"You. And you must have done all right because you are both here in one piece!" Matthew chuckled. "But what about the car? Is that still in one piece too?"

"It certainly is," Tom raised his eyebrows. "She did very well, all things considered!"

"And the question now is whether you can trust me to drive you all the way up to York," Mary continued, and she leaned down to kiss Matthew on the cheek.

"Hmm," Matthew said wryly. "What do you think Tom?"

"I think you could, Captain," he grinned. "And besides, I'll be in the front seat with her and ready to grab the wheel if I need!"

"Well. That settles it then," Matthew said lightly. He took Mary's hand. "And remember my darling," he said his voice low, "if my confidence is suitably inspired, it could be time for us to go looking for that new car I intend to buy you!" He batted his eyelashes at her, and Mary found his gesture so alarmingly sexy that her body quivered.

"Well," she breathed, _sotto voce_, her dark eyes flashing. "I think, Mr Crawley, that you will be."

Tom looked away smiling. The static between the two newlyweds was palpable. He cleared his throat. "Captain, is there anywhere I might get a glass of water?" he asked

"Of course," Matthew answered quickly, blushing slightly. "Ask Beatrice to show you through to the staff sitting room. We'll come and find you. I won't be long packing up."

As the door clicked shut behind him, Mary fell into Matthew's lap and kissed him fiercely, her hands grabbing at his silky hair. He pulled her tight against him, and kissed her back, growling a little.

Her skin tingled as he ran one hand feather light up her thigh and under her skirt, whilst he stroked her breast through the thin silk of her blouse with the other.

"Mmm." He broke their kissing and looked at her, his almond shaped blue eyes widening. "You're wearing that brassiere again. No corset. Oh… God Mary!" His breath quickened and he loosed and then unbuttoned her blouse and quickly unhooked her brassiere. She could feel him trembling, and a wave of desire coursed through her as his hands explored, unbidden, the angles and curves of her body and the softness and roundness of her breasts. He began to knead her smooth warm skin and she moaned, her body melting into him, her lips hard against his once more, their tongues in a dance of their own.

"My darling," Mary gasped eventually, pushing back from him and trying to quell the heat pulsing in her body. "We can't… we have to stop."

Matthew drew back, reluctantly. He gazed at her, transfixed at her beauty. He drank her in for a long moment, and then with a heady sigh, and a mischievous smile, he straightened her skirt, and then reached to fasten her brassiere taking a moment to hold each warm breast in his hands again first. He buttoned her blouse and tucked it back in, and then cupping her face in his hands, he kissed her very gently before releasing her. She stood shakily, still weak with desire and she fixed him with a gaze of such love and warmth that he shivered.

"I love you," he whispered, reaching for her hands, his eyes bright with unexpected tears. "So terribly terribly much."

0-0-0-0-0-0

To their enormous relief, Sarah-Jane was smiling when she met them at the hospital.

"He's gone a whole twenty-four hours now with his temperature back to normal. The doctors want to see that maintained another few days before they say anything definite, but they're quietly hopeful he's finally turning the corner!"

"That is such good news," Mary said fervently. "We've been so worried! Is he awake?" Sarah-Jane nodded, and they made their way to Evelyn's bedside.

The visiting hour was surprisingly busy, and they had to lean in to be able to hear him over the many other voices. He was delighted when Mary told him she had driven all the way there.

"I knew you'd like it," he said, his voice raspy and weak from his illness. "You've always liked speed."

"Just because I used to race you and win during our hunts!" Mary giggled.

"Indeed," Evelyn murmured fondly, remembering back to the first time she raced him, and what a thrill it had been: Mary, stunning in her top hat, handling the horse like the best of the men, all whilst riding sidesaddle.

He was also pleased to see Tom, who spent a few minutes telling him a little about his new job and what he and Sybil were planning. Tom and Mary left shortly afterwards to take Sarah-Jane to tea: Matthew had mentioned something about having confidential Trust business he needed to discuss with Evelyn alone.

The two of them sat in companionable silence for a while. When Evelyn was able to talk again, he said, "I had another look at what you sent through to Reggie. And there are a few other things I think we need to cover off. Got a pen?"

"I have," Matthew reached into his jacket pocket and took out his notebook and pen. He rolled his chair a little closer to the small bedside table. "All right old chap, let's have it."

They talked through the additional matters Evelyn thought it important to include in the criteria for use of the fund, and Matthew told him how Lavinia's wedding had been brought forward.

"I'm pleased for Reggie's sake. And Lavinia's!" Evelyn said his face solemn.

"We all are," Matthew said heavily. "And I'm glad you and I are having this conversation now, as Lavinia also wants us to settle the terms of the bequest. When she called today I got the distinct impression she felt the wedding breakfast might be the last chance we will have to check things out with him."

"Well, can you get a letter to his solicitor on these extra matters by messenger tomorrow?" Evelyn asked, breathless again from the effort of talking.

"I can," Matthew replied grimly. "I'll make sure I get it done."

Matthew shut the notebook and leaned back, closing his eyes.

"You doing all right old man?" Evelyn asked after a while.

"Wrung out, if you must know," Matthew replied not bothering to open his eyes. "Sergeant Sybil, Round Two."

Evelyn gave a snort of laughter. "Should have guessed," he murmured. "Are you pulling your work back a bit to focus on it?"

Matthew straightened up then, and looked at him "We're too busy," he said frowning. "Alex is meeting with us next week. Supposedly to start. And bloody hell we need him! But to be honest, I'm worried about whether he's up to it."

"What do you mean?" Evelyn furrowed his brow.

"He's not sleeping." Matthew said quietly.

"Oh," Evelyn set his jaw. He knew exactly what 'not sleeping' meant. "Well," he said almost to himself. "Here we go again. The fucking army breaks yet another good man. Are there any good men it hasn't fucking broken?" he rolled his eyes.

Matthew shrugged and swallowed. "Anyway. I guess I'll find out next week."

"Give him my best wishes will you?" Evelyn added.

Matthew nodded and shut his eyes again.

"Back to you old chap," Evelyn continued, just what is she doing to wring you out quite so badly?"

Matthew told him about what he had to do: a whole new set of exercises, and how it was like starting all over again only ten times harder.

"Sounds like this is a lot more about mind over matter," Evelyn mused. "Especially with your sense of touch compromised. Is she getting you to do any visualising?"

"What do you mean?" Matthew asked.

"Well, when I was running at college, there was a coach who made a huge difference to our team. He would correct our technique by talking us through, in anatomical terms what he wanted us to change," Evelyn paused to get his breath back, and then continued. "He would get us to imagine we were doing that. And then he got us to do that as we ran. And after a while it worked."

"Hmm," Matthew said. "She's sort of trying to do that, I think. But maybe I need it more explicit."

"Talk to her about it," Evelyn said encouragingly. "Or she could talk to me. It's worth a try. After all, there's a weekend at the Savoy at stake!"

"Ha!" Matthew laughed. "That needs to be for you! But you need to be married to enjoy it. So just when are you and Sarah-Jane going to tie the knot?"

"When I can sit up for long enough to get through it," Evelyn's face broke into a grin. "You'll probably get a call the day before at this rate. Sarah-Jane is determined we won't have any more delays."

"We'll be there with bells on! You're going to love being married you know."

"Well, if it's anything like the way you two carry on," Evelyn chuckled. "You are completely besotted!"

"Oh." Matthew blushed deep red. "Well," he sighed. "What can I say, Evelyn. She's beautiful, she's kind. And she's clever! And we have the most fantastic arguments. I still can't believe she chose me!"

"You deserve her," Evelyn remarked. "It was always going to take a special kind of man. Which you are! You bring out the best in her. It's truly lovely to see you both so happy."

"Thank you," Matthew said humbly. He felt deeply touched. And he knew Evelyn was right; the connection he and Mary shared was very special indeed.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Over tea, Mary asked Sarah-Jane whether they had set a wedding date.

"Very soon, if he stays stable," she said with a hopeful smile. "You won't get much notice!"

"We won't mind," Mary said reassuringly. "We just want to see you both together and happy!"

Sarah-Jane gulped. "Oh, I do hope so! It has been such a terrible time!"

Mary patted her on the arm. "You have been such a wonderful support to him my dear," she said gently. "And please let me know if I can help with any arrangements," she added. "I'm sure I can work quickly if need be! I've got plenty of experience at this now," she said wryly.

"You have indeed," Sarah-Jane smiled, blinking back tears. "And please give my regards to Edith with her wedding coming up so very soon! And Sybil of course," she finished. She turned to Tom, and said, a little awkwardly, "Evelyn has congratulated you, and therefore I must too. I do wish you all the very best."

Tom nodded. "Thank you, Lady Sarah," he said politely. "And I wish the very best for you and Lieutenant Napier. I am honoured to have had his friendship this past year. I doubt I would have found a suitable position quite so quickly if it had not been for his encouragement and good counsel. You have a wonderful man in him."

Sarah-Jane gulped again, and nodded. "He is," she said, touched and surprised by the warmth of Tom's sentiment. Perhaps Evelyn and Matthew were right: perhaps this thoughtful young man, despite his humble beginnings, was fine enough for Sybil after all.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Lavinia's wedding was both beautiful and poignant. The day was so fine and warm that a last minute decision was made to hold the ceremony out of doors, and the fragrance of spring flowers and bird song added to the specialness of the occasion.

There were few dry eyes in the congregation as Reggie Swire, very frail but smiling proudly, walked his daughter slowly up to the alter and her beaming husband to be, who was elegantly dressed in a grey morning suit with a buttonhole of spring flowers.

"I'm so happy to see her happy," Matthew whispered to Mary as the bride and groom kissed each other to seal the exchange of vows.

"Me too," Mary said, squeezing his hand. "And so pleased Reggie was able to give her away!" She remembered her own wedding day then, and the enormous pride that had been in her father's eyes when he did the same for her.

The wedding breakfast passed very pleasantly with the musical items performed by Lavinia's friends adding a nice touch. It was mid-afternoon when they finally left.

"How was Evelyn's mother?" Matthew asked in the taxi on the way back to Aunt Rosamund's home in Belgrave Square where they were to spend the night before returning to York in the morning.

"A little emotional," Mary replied solemnly. "And not just about Reggie. Do you know they have been close friends for thirty years? I think this whole awful time with Evelyn has really taken its toll. She is enormously relieved, of course, that he seems to be pulling through now. They wouldn't have come today if there had been any doubt."

"His father was cautiously hopeful when we were talking to Reggie," Matthew said. "But I did get the feeling he won't fully relax until Evelyn is safely home with them again."

Mary looked at Matthew curiously. "And tell me, my darling, what did you spend so much time talking to him and Reggie about? You even had Lavinia over there at one point looking very serious!"

Matthew smiled. "I haven't told you this yet. It didn't seem right until it was settled. But as of today, it is. Dear Reggie is making us, as in our Veteran's Trust, a benefactor of his will. He is leaving us half of his estate."

"Half of his estate!" Mary exclaimed. "That could be quite a lot. I know from something Papa said that he is rumoured to be quite well off."

Matthew swallowed. "He is indeed. Just quietly, as we don't want this broadcast about, it is likely to be in the order of 100,000 pounds."

"100,000?" Mary gasped.

"It's real. I've seen his financial statements."

"Oh Matthew! There will be so much you can do with that! So much good!"

"There will be. And we're asking Lavinia to be one of the Trustees. You know it was her who insisted the bequest be half the estate. Reggie had initially thought to bequeath a quarter."

"Lavinia has always been a deeply kind person," Mary said a slight catch in her voice. "What an act of generosity! And I am very glad you are to make her a Trustee."

"That idea was Mother's," Matthew said fondly. "And Reggie was thrilled about it."

0-0-0-0-0-0

Aunt Rosamund made a great fuss of them over dinner. Mary was quietly amused at just how curious her Aunt was in how they were getting on now they were married. So she played up just a little to show her that all was more than well.

"What's got into you?" Matthew hissed, a smile playing at his lips when Rosamund left the dining room for a few minutes to sort out a problem with the dessert. "You are being rather forward in your affections! Poking your tongue out at me? Blowing me kisses? Don't get me wrong my darling… but you are normally a stickler for decorum!"

Mary began to giggle. "Sorry," she said her eyes glinting mischievously. "I just want to make sure Aunt Rosamund is one hundred percent certain I married you for love. And not title."

Matthew snorted. "You witch! You told me she knew that already!"

"Well… perhaps I'm just showing off then," Mary smirked. "Like the cat that got the cream."

"You are incorrigible," Matthew shook his head. And then he began to laugh. And they were still laughing when Aunt Rosamund returned. When dessert finally arrived, however, the conversation took an unexpectedly serious twist.

"Matthew, my dear," Rosamund said a little hesitantly. "Did you have any past association with the firm of Luxmore and Luton?"

Matthew started suddenly, and put down his dessert fork.

"They were the firm I first worked for. In Manchester! I wasn't there for long. Why?"

"I'm not sure if you have heard, but the firm is being investigated for some sort of wrong-doing. Luxmore is the one being fingered, but there is a rumour going around that others were involved," she said. She reached to pick up her wine glass, and Mary noticed that her Aunt's hand was shaking ever so slightly.

Matthew was frowning. "Rosamund," he said slowly. "I doubt I have ever mentioned to any of the Crawley family that I used to work for that firm. What have you heard?"

Rosamund took a deep breath. "On Friday afternoon I was at bridge. Just as I was leaving, one of the ladies took me aside. She is a person I have known for many years and she knows my connection to the Crawley's. She was concerned as she had heard from her husband that a rumour was circulating that Luxmore had accomplices," she lowered her voice and almost whispered. "One of the names mentioned was yours."

Mary gasped and looked at Matthew in horror. Matthew didn't move. He stared at Rosamund. _This has got to be Carlisle_ he thought grimly. But on what basis was he spreading such a damaging rumour? There was nothing in the papers about wrongdoing and Luxmore and Luton. And if something were pending, surely he would have been contacted had it been at a time when he was an employee of the firm. _Damn it. One more thing to add to Charles's list of matters to investigate._

"Rosamund," he said at last. "Might we discuss this in private?" He kept his voice low, not wanting to attract the attention of Meade, who stood motionless at attention by the door.

Rosamund nodded. As soon as dessert was over, she dismissed Meade, and ushered Mary and Matthew through to the drawing room. She shut the door firmly and sat down on the sofa.

"Do you have a notepad and pen I might use?" Matthew asked.

"Of course," she answered. She arose and went across to a small desk in the corner, returning with the items. The first thing Matthew asked for was the name of the man who had been told the rumour, his wife's name, and where and when Rosamund had been told. And then sitting back, he and Mary explained what Sir Richard Carlisle and his henchmen appeared to be up to with their muckraking, taking care not to divulge some of the more sensitive aspects: Mary was unsure whether Rosamund knew of her brother's indiscretion, and she had no intention of being the one to enlighten her.

"What can I do to help?" Rosamund said, tsk tsking, after they had finished the unpleasant tale. Matthew reached into his jacket and pulled out his billfold. He removed a copy of his trade card, writing on it, the name Charles Carter. He handed it to her.

"Charles Carter, my boss, is acting for us on this matter. If you hear anything further, anything at all, please alert Charles immediately at this address. The more details you can give him, names, times, places, the better. And of course, all of what we have told you today must remain strictly between us. Only some in the family are aware of the full extent of what is occurring."

Rosamund nodded. "Of course. This is a grave matter indeed! I must say the timing worked rather well: when I got told that news yesterday, all I could think was thank heavens I would be seeing you both in person, and without the wider family around today," she shook her head worriedly.

"My dear," she said addressing Mary. "I'm so very sorry this is going on. As if he hasn't caused you enough heartache already."

0-0-0-0-0-0

"I wonder if our life will ever be anything approaching ordinary," Mary pursed her lips, as she and Matthew settled back in the comfortable first class compartment on the train to Yorkshire the next morning.

"Ordinary?" Matthew echoed. "Hmm. Not at this rate," he sighed heavily. "Unless we play Carlisle at his own criminal game, and organise for him to be conveniently dispatched!"

"Ha!" Mary rolled her eyes. "Not the way of the law abiding solicitor. Nor the upstanding Lady of the county."

"It's not, is it?" Matthew agreed. "Sorry, my dear. We are going to have to rely on the more conventional methods of truth seeking and justice," he took her hand and kissed it. "Unfortunately longer, and generally more painful methods, particularly where the innocent party is concerned. But so be it," he frowned. Wanting to distract himself from the latest worrying developments, he said, "How about a change of subject. You spent time with Jarvis last week didn't you? How did it all go?"

Mary spent the next half hour of the trip explaining what she had found out, and her thoughts on what she was going to have to do when she took over.

"There is going to be a lot of work up front," she said worriedly. "And I am going to have to figure out how we can pay for it all. So much deferred maintenance!" she shook her head.

"Is the job doable?" Matthew asked. "Or will you need to hire help?"

"Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that," Mary answered sitting up. She reached for her bag and pulled out her notebook and started to explain to him the plan she had in mind.

"So you intend to hire people to do the day to day, to free you up to manage?" Matthew stated.

"Yes. That's the general idea. And by not drawing for myself, I can use what we used to pay Jarvis to cover their wages. Plus some!" she rolled her eyes.

"You will need some funds for yourself," Matthew said, concerned.

"I'll take out a clothing allowance. But I will propose to Papa that my main drawings be a portion of profit," Mary said resolutely. "That should focus me on the critical tasks well enough, shouldn't it!"

"I daresay it will!" Matthew said admiringly. "And I imagine Robert couldn't fault that as an approach either!" he looked at her thoughtfully. "And where will you look to get these people you wish to hire?"

"I was about to ask you that question," Mary replied unexpectedly. "I'd like to hire from amongst your group of soldiers assuming we can find some with the necessary skills."

"You would do that?" Matthew said, impressed.

"Of course!" Mary scoffed. "Why ever would I not?"

Matthew's face broke into a wide smile. "Very well. Local people for local work! I like the sound of this very much. Tell me what you need and I'll get onto it with Molesley. With a bit of luck we will have some names we can put to you."

0-0-0-0-0-0

Alex arrived off the five o'clock train on Wednesday evening. He was to stay overnight at the Abbey ahead of the meeting planned with Harvell and Carter for Thursday morning.

Matthew had come home early to meet him, and he was waiting out front. He was shocked but not surprised when he saw Alex's appearance. His colour was off. He was thinner, if that could ever be possible for a man who had always been spare. And he looked haunted. But he managed a cheery smile when he greeted Matthew. "You're looking great! Married life is it?"

"Perhaps," Matthew said, knowing his face was going bright red: Alex's words had brought front of mind a delightful image of a naked Mary throwing herself on him in the early morning: he had departed for work a few hours later in a particularly good mood.

"Definitely!" Alex smirked as if he could read his mind, and Matthew blushed deeper still. Alex gave his friend a light punch on the shoulder. "Where is she, by the way?"

"Evening shift unfortunately. She hopes to catch up with you at breakfast before we go up to Ripon."

"I see," Alex nodded. "Clarissa sends her regards. Her mother is staying so she couldn't come up with me this trip."

"Of course," Matthew said understandingly. "Walk with me a bit," and he turned his chair and gestured the path through the rose gardens. They caught up on each other's immediate news, and Matthew told him what was happening at work and the arrangements for the following day when Alex was to meet formally with Charles and Harold.

As they were retracing their steps, Alfred came out to greet them. "Good evening Captain Crawley, Colonel Shipton," he said bowing slightly. "May I interest you in a pre-dinner cocktail? I could bring it out to the terrace if you would like."

"What a marvellous idea!" Alex said. "Thank you…"

"Alfred," Alfred reminded him with a smile. After finding out what they wanted, he departed, and Alex and Matthew continued back to the terrace outside the library. It was a beautiful evening, still and warm.

"When are you discharged?" Matthew asked.

"When all my leave is finished," Alex replied. "There was so much owing I think it's another month yet before I'll get my final pay and the papers through," he sighed. "Time for another life. Wish I felt ready for it."

Matthew looked at him shrewdly, but he didn't say anything. They sat in silence, enjoying the evening sunshine. Alfred delivered their drinks and announced that dinner would be late: Lady Grantham had been delayed returning from her committee meeting in Durham.

"Glad it's late," Matthew said after he had left. "Things are a bit shaky between Cora and Robert at the moment. It's making for difficult meal time conversation!"

"Is it about financials?" Alex frowned.

Matthew shook his head. "Only partly. It's not great on that front, but the estate is still in the black, just. No, some other things…" his voice trailed off. "I'll have to tell you about them some time as the firm's involved, but it's a long story and not for tonight."

They sipped their drinks. As the first warm flush of alcohol coursed through his system Matthew summonsed the courage, finally, to ask Alex what was really on his mind.

"About work, Alex. Are you really ready for it? There won't be any 'easing back in,' with what's on the books," he looked at him seriously. "We are it in terms of intellectual grunt. Plenty of juniors, but Charles has too much on, and Harold, to be frank, is past putting in a full week," he paused. "If you're not ready, we don't have to do this now. You could take some more time first."

Alex's head snapped up. "What's Clarissa been saying about me?" he said his eyes darkening.

"She says you're not sleeping," Matthew said calmly. "And I can tell. Sorry to say it old chap, but you look terrible."

"It's too quiet, you know," Alex muttered. "I can't stand the silence. I haven't slept a full night since the boat trip from France."

"What about work, Alex? Can you concentrate? Or do you need to sort this out first?" Matthew persisted gently.

Alex rolled his eyes and rubbed his forehead. "Clarissa wants me to go to some sort of mind doctor. For fuck's sake, Matthew! I've been at war. I'm not sick! I can't bear the thought of some patronising toff pretending they know what it's like. How could they possibly understand?"

"If it's Doctor Rivers she's talking about, or someone he's recommending, you might be pleasantly surprised," Matthew countered.

"Isn't his work for the hopeless cases? Those chaps that fell apart out there?" Alex challenged. "I didn't, Matthew. I held it together. I played the fucking game all the way through."

"He doesn't just work with the worst cases," Matthew continued. He took a sip of his drink and leaned forward. "This is how I see it. You can weather the storm. And over time you will heal. But it could be quite a long time. And not very nice, for you or Clarissa! Or you could take the risk and talk to someone. It might help things get back to normal quicker. Or at least with a little less angst."

"I'd feel like a weakling if I agreed to see someone," Alex growled. "You know how the officers talked about the men who lost it. It wasn't pretty."

Matthew rolled his eyes. "Well bully for them," he said drily. "I saw someone. I had to. I was far worse than you are. So tell me Alex. Does that make me weak?" and Matthew leaned back and looked steadily across at his best friend.


	41. Chapter 41

Alex arrived at breakfast looking like death warmed up: it was clear he hadn't slept again, and Matthew worried for his friend and the meeting planned that morning with Charles. He brightened a little on hearing Mary's cheerful "Good morning!" however, and was soon engaged in an animated conversation with her about what she was planning for her new role as the land agent for Downton.

"It's a clever idea of yours to look to employ a team rather than bury your self in all the detail," Alex commented. "I suspect that was half Jarvis's problem: trying to be the jack-of-all-trades and doing a mediocre job as a result!"

"Mediocre when I'm feeling charitable," Mary said rolling her eyes. "Inadequate and incompetent when I'm not!"

"Don't let Robert hear you say that," Matthew chuckled.

Mary tapped the side of her nose. "I wouldn't dare," she said in a conspiratorial tone. "But I can tell you both!"

The two men looked at each other and laughed. "And you must continue to," Alex said. "It sounds like you've got more than a few challenges ahead, and if I can add to what Matthew does in providing you with a sounding board, then please ask."

"Thank you, Alex," Mary said, surprised and pleased. _He's like another Matthew_, she mused. _Always ready to support and encourage._ And she knew she would want his counsel as well as Matthew's: Alex had the experience of his own family estate to draw on, and by the sounds of it, his father and brother had been considerably more forward-looking in respect of how the family assets were being managed. She gave him a wide smile and then proceeded to ask after Clarissa and their holiday together in Kent.

Watching him talking merrily to his wife, Matthew began to feel a little easier about the day to come, and in the end, the meeting with Charles progressed smoothly. After a further meeting with Harold, Charles insisted Alex meet the rest of the Harvell and Carter staff. Matthew left them both after morning tea to get on with his own work, and Charles beckoned Alex back to his office and motioned him to a seat at the table under the window.

"Colonel Shipton," he began, "it is without a doubt that you will be an enormous asset to this firm. I have seen that this morning, and read it in the impeccable references you have provided from your former firm and past clients. We would be very pleased to take you on as an associate, with a view to you becoming a partner in the near future. But what is your thinking? You've heard a bit about what we are engaged with, and the new opportunities we are looking to pursue. Do you need some time to consider this offer further, or are you ready to give me an answer now?" Charles looked at the younger man intently.

"I would like to accept your offer, Sir," Alex answered firmly, hoping his eyes did not betray his inner turmoil: Matthew's words from the previous evening had continued to ring in his ears all morning: _"Are you ready? You don't need to do this now if you are not."_

Charles Carter was a perceptive man. He was himself a former army officer: the son of an officer; and the grandson of an officer, and all of them had seen active service. He had been observing Alex closely since he had arrived, and something in the manner of his answer confirmed what he had already surmised. He saw before him a man who was deeply tired. A man who had clearly suffered some incalculable loss and who was struggling to return to a life where one wasn't at war. But this man was also intensely proud. And determined. Charles knew he must choose his next words with care. He cleared his throat. "We look forward very much to you joining us Colonel," he began. "And before we discuss your appointment terms any further, I have a couple of questions. I understand that you were in France until the beginning of March, is that correct?" Alex nodded. "Yes, Sir."

"And that you served in the British Army from August 1914 until that time?" Alex nodded again, wondering why was asking.

"It's not often that a small firm like ours has the honour of a man who is not only a highly skilled lawyer, but also a gentleman and a decorated Army Colonel seeking to join us," Mr Carter continued. "In light of that and your very recent return to England, I believe our firm is obliged to ensure you have sufficient time to attend to the many personal affairs one inevitably has after such an extended period of active service."

Alex opened his mouth to interrupt, to say that wasn't the case, that his personal affairs had been attended to, but something in the older man's demeanour stopped him.

"I, therefore, ask that you begin your work with us on a date of your choosing, and on hours of your choosing," Mr Carter stated. "You have my promise that we will respect your choice, and that we will also leave to you the decision after that point as to when you wish to commence full hours and with that, full responsibilities."

Alex stared across at him, disconcerted all of a sudden. What had he given away? Had this man read his mind? He eyed him nervously, looking for signs of hesitation or pity. He saw none. Instead he saw understanding, and more than a little admiration. And it was then he realised why and he felt a strange sense of relief. "Mr Carter," he asked formally. "You served?" It was more a statement than a question.

Charles gave a brief nod. "The Boer War. I was a Captain in the infantry. Mr Harvell also served."

"And your father?" Alex enquired. "I recall Matthew talking of something military in his background."

Mr Carter nodded again. "Yes, that is correct. Like you, my father attained the rank of Colonel during his service, which in his case was the Crimean war. Unfortunately, he was wounded a few months before it ended and left a cripple. But he wasn't one to dwell on bad luck, and when he recovered his health, he started this firm." He paused and gave a wry smile. "And with you looking to join us, and Matthew on board of course, it appears this tradition of military service in the firm is set to continue."

"It does appear so," Alex observed.

Mr Carter pushed his chair back and stood up. Alex stood too. "Thank you for coming in today Colonel Shipton," Mr Carter said. "I look forward to hearing from you once you have reached a decision on your start date and hours. We will complete the formalities for your appointment then." He nodded to Alex and extended his hand.

Alex shook the older man's hand firmly. "Thank you, Sir," he said formally. "Thank you very much."

0-0-0-0-0-0

"Colonel Shipton," Sergeant Barrow announced, opening the sitting room door and standing to the side with his usual aplomb.

Alex nodded courteously to Barrow and then flashing Matthew a wide grin he flopped unceremoniously onto the sofa at the end opposite to his friend.

"Want a drink?" Matthew asked, waving his glass of claret.

"A drink would be marvellous," Alex answered, and Sergeant Barrow went immediately to the sideboard to pour him a glass.

"Do you need anything else, Sirs?" he asked after he had served Alex his wine.

"No thank you, Sergeant. That will be all for now," Matthew replied, and Sergeant Barrow nodded and left the room.

"Well, I've said yes," Alex began and he took a sip of his drink.

Matthew grinned. "Charles told me. I'm really pleased old chap."

"So am I," Alex admitted. "I like them. I like the way they operate. And I like the sound of the work."

"When are you going to start?" Matthew asked.

Alex sighed. "We didn't set a date," he said looking at Matthew a little sheepishly. "Mr Carter made it clear there is no hurry and that the date, and the hours, are up to me."

Matthew gave a sigh of relief. T_rust Charles_ he thought. _I bet he could tell! And best of all, he understands._ "Well, with how things are for you right now, I can't say I'm not relieved."

"You and Clarissa both," Alex replied heavily and he leaned back and closed his eyes. Matthew regarded him in silence and took another sip of his claret.

"Perhaps I should start with giving you a hand with some of your cases. Do the back room work," Alex mused, his eyes still closed.

"That's certainly possible," Matthew replied thoughtfully. "Especially with the big jobs I've got on the go. It will help me reduce the backlog. But can you stand playing second fiddle? It's not normally how you like to operate!" he said wryly.

Alex opened his eyes and gazed at him with a serious expression. "I know. But I heard what you said yesterday. And you are right. I'm tired, Matthew! But I do want to work. Perhaps second fiddle is how it needs to be for a while." He shrugged. "And besides. It's not the Army. It's the law. And face it, you've always bested me on that when it comes down to it."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Matthew replied a little uncomfortably. "You were the first of all of us to a junior partnership – and at one of London's best firms!"

"Ha," Alex growled. "On Papa's coat tails. Sorry old chap. That was all about title. Not ability," he finished, his tone derisive.

Matthew sighed. He didn't agree, but there was no point arguing with Alex in a mood to be down on him self. "Well," he shrugged. "How about we start with me telling you what I've got on. And you can see what you think."

He described the mergers he was involved with, and some of the more substantive commercial contracts, as well as the work, scheduled but not yet under way. He finished, sighing a little: saying it all out loud to Alex reminded him just how much there was to do. He sat back and sipped his wine again.

"Wasn't there something else?" Alex cocked his head and looked at Matthew with a quizzical expression. "Charles said something about a thing with some fellow called Carlisle."

"What did he tell you?" Matthew asked.

"Not much. He started to, but then he seemed to reconsider and he said I should talk to you."

Matthew rolled his eyes. "Guess why Alex! It's because I'm the client. Well Robert, Mary and me to be precise."

"What?" Alex frowned, straightening up. Matthew leaned forward and without revealing the more sensitive information, quickly summarised what was going on, and the latest worrying developments.

"And you are trying to deal with all of this? When you're barely married? And carrying a huge caseload, not to mention your charity work?" Alex said angrily.

Matthew nodded. "It's very tough for Mary. There's a history there between her and this gentleman," he said delicately, swirling his wine glass. "But we really don't have any choice. We're going to have to fight him until we win. He's ruthless. And he's got deep pockets."

"Jesus Matthew," Alex shook his head. "Well, if I can do anything to help Charles with it. Especially whilst I'm still living in London you must tell me." He frowned all of a sudden. "And what about you? Is this what's affecting your health? You're not moving very easily these past two days. And I keep seeing you wince."

To his surprise, Matthew smiled. "I'm in pain for a good reason," he replied. "One that's nothing to do with Carlisle!" And he proceeded to tell him what had happened when he had finally got to see Doctor Jones.

"So he said you have a chance?" Alex said in amazement, and he began to smile. "I can't believe it. After everything you went through. Oh, Matthew. That is the very best news!" He clapped Matthew on the shoulder and grinned. "I'll have to come and see your therapy. You still doing it early?"

Matthew nodded. "I am. But I warn you. It's not pretty," he rolled his eyes. "Lots of effort for not much return. But Sybil keeps reassuring me it will happen in time."

"And she's the one to listen to," Alex commented. "And how lucky you are to have someone with her skills to work with you at home." He grinned at Matthew. "This calls for another drink!" He got up and strode across to the sideboard. He refilled his glass and brought the decanter across to Matthew. "Thanks," Matthew replied, holding out his glass. "Can you pour me some water as well? There's a jug there."

Alex returned with the water and placed it on the wine table in front of the sofa and flopped back in his seat. Matthew fixed him with a serious expression. "There was something else the Doctor said that I wanted to share," Matthew began. "Because I need to thank you."

Alex looked at him questioningly. "Thank me?" he said mystified. "Whatever for?"

Matthew swallowed. "Doctor Jones said it was a miracle I wasn't more badly hurt. In fact, he said I owed my life, and with it, this chance of further recovery in great part to the soldiers who got me off the battlefield," Matthew paused, looking steadily at his friend. "And Mary told me it was you."

0-0-0-0-0-0

"You still awake?" Mary said softly as she came into the bedroom shortly after eleven o'clock following her shift.

Matthew turned to look at her, enjoying the way her sheer nightdress clung to her curvy hips and accentuated her small but very pretty breasts. "I needed to see you," he said his voice low. "I miss you when you do the evening shift."

She climbed into bed and wrapped her arms around him. "And I miss you when you go off to work each day," she said ruefully.

"Hmm," he murmured looking up at her, a smile playing at his lips. "It's nice to be missed."

They held each other in silence for a while before swapping news of their days. "I'm delighted that it's worked out for Alex to join you," Mary said, turning on her side and resting her head on her elbow to look at him. "And I'm not at all surprised Charles was so keen. Alex is quite impressive you know."

"He is," Matthew agreed. He turned to her with a troubled expression. "But I'm still worried about him. Today…" his voice trailed off.

"Today what?" Mary asked delicately.

"Well, when we caught up after work, somehow we got onto my health, and I told him my news. And because I wanted to thank him, I ended up telling him what Doctor Jones had said about the soldiers that had got me away from the front. And that I knew it was him," Matthew swallowed. "And he sort of froze. And then… " Matthew shook his head slightly. "He got upset. And he told me why he hadn't said. It was truly awful Mary! And I wished I hadn't said anything. I should have known. God, I should have known!"

Mary felt him shudder. "What did he say?" she asked quietly.

"I… well… Mary, it isn't nice. Do you really want me to say?" Matthew looked anguished.

"I do," Mary said calmly. "I am your wife and this is causing you pain. If I can help simply by listening, well…"

Matthew worked his jaw, considering her words for a moment. Then taking a deep breath he explained how barely two weeks later, Alex had found himself fighting alongside the same men who had worked with him to rescue them. There had been a mortar attack and they had sustained an almost direct hit. All three of them had been killed. Matthew recited to her what Alex had said: _"I can't get Sergeant Boyle's face out of my mind! He gave me this look of pure terror and when he looked down at his body, well what was left of it, he began to scream this terrible screaming. And he died screaming! It was my worst moment of the whole war."_

"Oh, my. That so soon after the trauma of seeing his best friends caught in a similar blast!" Mary said, shocked.

"He said it was far worse than seeing us thrown. He told me, _"At least when you landed you were both in one piece. These poor buggers were literally blown to bits."_

It was Mary who shuddered then. "And this… a version of this happened most times you went over the top. If not to your regiment, to someone else's on our side!"

"But we were as bad," Matthew said, his voice hard. "We inflicted this same horror on the men that we fought! No soldier is innocent in a war. We all deserve to rot in hell when it comes down to it."

Mary frowned. "You were following orders, Matthew. You would have faced punishment if you hadn't. And many of the soldiers fighting alongside you were conscripts, not volunteers. I'm not so sure there are no innocent soldiers in a war. No innocent Governments, perhaps!" she said forcefully.

They were quiet for a few moments, Matthew agitated, Mary brooding. "There has to be a better way to sort out problems than going to war!" she huffed eventually.

"I wish I could believe you," Matthew said grimly. "I fear we haven't seen the end of wars in our lifetime. The way our leaders are going about it! Undermining the fourteen point plan with this push for so much reparation."

"You want what President Wilson wants do you?" Mary raised her eyebrows. Matthew contemplated her question. He sighed. "I just don't want to see the good sentiments in it undermined by us being punitive towards Germany! Were they entirely to blame for the war beginning? I don't think so," Matthew shook his head.

Mary fell silent. She didn't know much of what was unfolding between countries at the Paris Peace conference, but she shared Matthew's sense of foreboding that there could be another war and she felt a strange prickle of fear.

"Was Alex all right at dinner after all of that?" she said, remembering then where their conversation had started.

"We didn't go. Barrow made up an excuse – told them all I had a headache and that Alex was keeping me company. He bought dinner in instead, and we just kept talking. He's haunted by it, Mary. Every time he tries to sleep. And really haunted by Sergeant Boyle! He kept saying to me, _"the man had three children Matthew. Why the hell wasn't he spared? I wish it had been me and not him."_

"And now he's drowning in the guilt," Mary said softly. "Has he visited Sergeant Boyle's wife?"

"No. He's written to her. He knows he should visit but he can't bring himself to," Matthew answered.

"Perhaps you should go with him. Now you know what Sergeant Boyle did for you. And the families of the others for that matter! It would probably help Alex."

"I would like to," he gave her a small smile. "And whilst you are probably right that it would help him, it can't be now. Alex is still too raw."

"How was he when he left you?" Mary frowned.

"A little calmer. Sergeant Barrow made him take a sleeping draught."

"Well let's hope it works," Mary said. "And what about you? Are you going to be able to sleep after hearing all that?" she asked gently.

"This has helped," Matthew confessed. "But I do hate talking to you of these things. I always feel that I shouldn't."

"I'm glad that you have learned to. And you must continue," Mary said resolutely, reaching to turn off the light. "A burden shared is a burden halved. Isn't that what your mother always says?" She gave a sudden yawn.

"Something like that," Matthew pulled her towards him, needing her close. She snuggled against his chest and he wrapped his arms around her, her warmth and presence deeply soothing. But it was a long time before he managed to go to sleep.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Matthew wheeled himself to the end of the parallel bars. Grasping hold of them, he swung his body up easily until he was completely upright. He held himself in place, waiting for Sybil to signal that he could begin. She moved his wheelchair out of the way and stood behind him, ready to assist. The other nurse stood in front. "You can start now, Matthew," she said.

Alex held his breath watching as his friend attempted to walk the length of the parallel bars, Sybil talking him through the mechanics of each step. Sometimes he managed a step: sometimes not. And his right leg was clearly more responsive than his left. After five minutes, Alex was exhausted just watching him, and Matthew was sweating and his whole body was shaking from the exertion.

"Matthew," Sybil said gently, for the second time. "Your chair is in position. Time to have a rest." Matthew shook his head and continued for another few minutes before he muttered, "That's it," and allowed Sybil to help him sit down.

To Alex's amazement, it was only a short time later when Matthew said, "Again?" to Sybil, and the whole process started over.

"So much for Sergeant Sybil," Alex scoffed, helping him stretch at the end of the session. "More like Major Matthew who's the task master!"

Matthew gave him a small smile. "It has to be that way. Has to be that much effort or it's not going to happen."

"Are you sure?" Alex said a little dubiously. "Isn't there always a point at which you can overdo things?"

Matthew shrugged. "I don't know. I guess my philosophy right now is to push it. If I still can't walk at the end of all this Alex, I never want to think it was because I didn't put in the effort. So it feels better this way."

Alex looked at him thoughtfully. "Hmm. Perhaps. But I do think you might take a little more notice of Sybil when she asks you to stop." Matthew said nothing, but he gave a non-committal shrug.

"Well," Alex said. "I suppose that when I think about it, I have no real idea what I'd do in your situation," he conceded. "Whether I would slack around, or sulk and refuse to do anything, or whether I'd work at it like a demon like you are."

"I know exactly what you'd do," Matthew began to laugh. "You'd be working as hard, or perhaps harder than I do. But you'd also be giving Sybil way more grief along the way than what she gets from me! And God help Clarissa!"

"You have so little faith, Crawley," Alex snorted, but he couldn't hide his grin. "You know me too well don't you?"

"I do," Matthew said, his eyes twinkling. "Can't be the long-suffering 2i/c for so much of the war and not learn a home truth or two!" and he punched Alex lightly on the arm.

0-0-0-0-0-0

"I understand you are looking to hire three people is that correct?" Molesley said to Mary as she sipped her tea in her mother-in-law's sitting room.

"Yes, at least initially," Mary replied. "What have you got? Is anyone a suitable match to the skills required?"

"There are. But there's not much choice," Molesley frowned. "And the fellow who on paper is the most promising for your crucial book keeping job has a bit of a tricky attitude."

"What do you mean?" Mary pursed her lips.

"He's very bitter. And hopeless about his situation," Molesley pursed his lips. "Doesn't always give the best first impression."

"I see," Mary remarked. "And just what is his situation?"

"Well, he was wounded a month before the end of the war. He has one arm."

"One arm what?"

"Well, that's just it. "That's all he has left."

"Oh," Mary replied evenly. "His bitterness immediately makes sense," she swallowed.

"Yes. I suppose it does," Molesley agreed, and Mary saw a flicker of sadness in his eyes.

"So tell me what his skills are," Mary continued, and Molesley explained. Young Mr Cooke had been an apprentice accountant before the war: he had been a year into it when he was conscripted.

"Why has he not returned to his former firm?" Mary asked.

"Well…" Molesley hesitated. "That's another tragedy. Both the firm's principals were killed. Amiens. So it's no longer operating. And with him, like he is now, oh dear… we see it all the time Lady Mary. These men have had the confidence knocked out of them. They can't see how anyone would ever employ them. So they don't even try. I mean, as far as they can see, why bother, when all you might do is get kicked when you are already down?"

Mary stared at Molesley, contemplating his words. "Can he write with the arm that remains?" she asked.

"Yes. Some small blessing that it was his left arm. And he is left-handed."

Mary thought for a moment. Was she willing to try him? Prepared to look past a poor attitude? She remembered the wards then, the many times she had seen young men regain consciousness and discover that they were no longer whole. The devastation etched in their faces. _You know what Matthew would say_, she told herself firmly. _Give the boy the benefit of the doubt._

"Tell the lad that I wish to interview him, Molesley," she said at last. "If he can be convinced to at least show up of course. Let me know, and if he does wish it, I will see him at the land agent's office: Jarvis is in London next Wednesday to make a final delivery of reports to Murray and we can do it then."

Molesley nodded and then continued with the rest of the names on his list: for the maintenance position, he had a young man who was a trained carpenter: he was disfigured and partially deaf but otherwise physically able. The building firm he had worked for prior had refused to have him back, saying he would scare the customers.

"We might have to send Matthew out to give them a bit of a scare," Mary said drily, rolling her eyes.

Molesley's lips twitched. "Don't do that just yet, my Lady. If he can do what you need, all's the better he works for someone who will treat him well!"

"I suppose so," Mary said, still frowning at the abject injustice so many wounded young men were facing.

Molesley hesitated before giving Mary the last name on his list. "I know you are looking for a secretary. This fellow has most of what you need. He's an excellent typist for instance. But there's a bit of a big problem with him and a secretarial role," Molesley frowned.

"And what is that?" Mary asked.

"He doesn't talk. He's shell-shocked. And he is a bit odd, to be honest. Obsessive about some things. One of the things he obsesses about is organising and neatness, and for that reason, I think he could be very good – keeping your files in good order – but he couldn't answer the telephone! Or deal with visitors, my Lady."

"Hmm," Mary thought for a while. "How accurate is he? If I were dictating letters and such like?"

"Very accurate," Molesley said immediately. "I know because I've taken him under my wing a bit," he said. "He's been assisting me with some of the charity work that I help Mrs Crawley with. And I can say with real confidence that he makes very few errors."

Mary looked through the page that Molesley had given her listing the man's skills and work history, which he and Evelyn had managed to find out through talking to those who had known him before the war. Eventually she looked up and said, "It's not a certainty by any means. But I would like to at least meet with him Molesley. Whether he can be a good fit depends a bit on how things go with these others. We will just have to see."

0-0-0-0-0-0

"I gave Sergeant Barrow another driving lesson today," Tom remarked to Matthew as the car neared the village on their return from Ripon. "He's taken to it pretty quickly. A few more lessons, and I'll be trusting him to drive you safely."

"Good! He told me he enjoys it far more than he thought he would," Matthew replied. "And that reminds me. I need to find out when I can expect delivery of our AC. That advice you gave on the different models was really useful by the way. Helped us decide."

"That particular AC is a very nice car. And a powerful engine," Tom agreed. "Elegant too. And you wanted elegant, didn't you?"

"I did indeed," Matthew chuckled. "And it's done the trick to encourage Mary. She can't wait to drive it!"

"I hope you have it before I'm off to London," Tom said. "I'd be keen to take her for a spin too."

"I'll telephone tomorrow," Matthew promised. "With a bit of luck, it will be."

Sergeant Barrow came out to meet them when Tom stopped the car at the front door.

"Good evening," he said, opening the passenger door for Matthew. "You've had a delivery this afternoon, Captain."

"Not the new car by chance?" asked Tom his eyes lighting up as he brought Matthew's chair around.

"Well, it is wheels, but not that sort!" Sergeant Barrow said, as he and Tom lifted Matthew out of the car.

"Oh, it's my new chair," Matthew said. "Good! Where is it?"

"In your suite. Did you want to try it now? I wasn't sure. I thought you might want to rest first," Sergeant Barrow replied.

"Perhaps I'd better," Matthew said reluctantly trying to get comfortable in his old one. He was keen to try it out, but he was tired. He thanked Tom and farewelled him, and Sergeant Barrow wheeled him inside.

"Sir, did Mr Carter talk with you today?" Sergeant Barrow asked Matthew a little hesitantly.

"No. Charles was in London. Why? Have you had some news?" Matthew asked, deliberately keeping his voice low as some of the other staff was about.

"I have." Barrow didn't say anything more until they were safely in the quiet of the private hallway that led to Matthew and Mary's suite.

"He finally got the opportunity to confront that man, the one who said he was 'Peter.' Anyhow, what he was up to is not pretty. In fact it makes me so wild I would rather you hear the details from Mr Carter and not me, Sir. But something he said got me thinking. And I've just remembered why," he said cautiously. "Captain, apparently the Peter chap said he was being paid by a Mr Green, and..."

"Green?" Matthew said sharply, interrupting. The name had stirred a memory.

"Yes, Green. And that's what had me worried," Sergeant Barrow continued, opening the door to the bedroom. He wheeled Matthew inside and came around and sat down on the edge of the bed to face him, frowning a little. "I'm sure I overheard Braithwaite once talking to a Green on the telephone in the servant's corridor."

"Why were you eavesdropping in the first place?" Matthew asked.

"I, well, it seemed to be an argument Sir," Sergeant Barrow said, flustered. "Your attention tends to get caught when that's happening."

"Of course," Matthew agreed readily. "Did you get any gist then of what it might have been about?"

"All I could fathom was that she hadn't done something. It sounded like he was shouting. And she was, well I'd say she seemed almost a little scared."

Matthew gave a sharp intake of breath. "Now I've remembered something too! Lord Grantham mentioned something about a Greer or a Green tied up with the Carlisle business as well. I'll bet it's the same man!"

"Well, that makes it easy," Sergeant Barrow said a little drily. "Just how many Greens are there in Britain? A needle in a haystack if you ask me!"

"Perhaps," Matthew responded. "But not impossible if you know where to look. As Charles and his private investigators do. And tell me, how is your friend?"

"Better now this Peter chap has been dealt to," Sergeant Barrow sighed. "But I am still worried in case some new unsavoury character pops up. There seems no stopping Sir Richard Carlisle! What with all this latest trouble he's stirring up for you now!" he shook his head. "None of us can rest until he's found guilty. Can we?"

"No. It seems not," Matthew said soberly.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Just what was it with her husband this night? Mary couldn't quite pick it. He looked tired, but despite it, he seemed rather pleased with himself. Lighter somehow. Almost glowing. It was very alluring. So she spent a lot of the dinner hour observing him. Watching him laughing easily with Edith and Sybil. Getting a smile out of her mother, which remained a rare feat these days, such was the continuing unresolved tension between her and Papa. Sharing some jokes Evelyn had told him with her father. Yes, he even managed to relax Papa. She smiled at him, and he caught her eye and immediately laid his hand on hers under the table. A flush of warmth stole through her. Of late, she had come to realise just how much she cherished his unselfconscious affection toward her. No matter her mood, or what burden was upon her, the brush of his hand, the beam of his smile across the room, or a lazily blown kiss from those perfect lips always cheered her immensely.

"You were remarkably charming at dinner," Mary said demurely, as the two of them sat by the fire in their bedroom in their dressing gowns. "I haven't seen you in such a good mood for weeks!"

"I finally have my independence back," Matthew said. "Unsurprisingly, it does wonders for one's state of mind."

"Clearly it does," Mary answered, although she didn't fully register with what he said, her mind still on how he had been at dinner. "I might even have to accuse you of being a little flirtatious!" she said arching her eyebrows.

"You and your sisters are very easy to flirt with," Matthew said matter-of-factly. "It's not often a man has the pleasure of three charming women, all of whom are capable of intelligent conversation all to himself!" he raised one eyebrow at her in a slightly comical fashion.

Mary sniggered. "Well. We'd better get this marriage business for the both of them over and done with. The sooner you have to contend with Anthony and Tom in vying for their attention the better!"

"And spoil my fun?" Matthew said innocently, and then he grinned. "You'll be the winner of course," he said, his voice softening slightly. He ran his eyes up and down her slender figure, and Mary felt her pulse quicken.

"We might have to retire," she said a little breathlessly. She stood and ran her hand lightly up his back and went to her dressing table. She sat down on the stool and began removing her hairpins. Matthew wheeled up behind her and said gently, "Let me do that." She straightened up and folded her hands in her lap, giving a sigh of pleasure as he began, enjoying the touch of his fingers gently removing each pin and then starting on the task of brushing out her long tresses. When he had finished he pulled her back against him and kissed the top of her head. "Come to bed," he murmured. She straightened up, and he released her and wheeled himself across the room. Mary put away her pins and her brush. She stood and when she turned around she was amazed to see Matthew was already on the bed reclining against the pillows.

"Matthew," she said suspiciously, walking quickly across to the bed. "How did you do that?" she stared at him. "Was that what you meant before? You're not…?"

"No, silly, I'm not walking yet," he grinned. "That would be physically impossible. But I can't believe you haven't even noticed it yet!" he said almost cross.

"Noticed what?" Mary said, at a loss.

"This." Matthew reached out and grabbed the handle of his new wheelchair and shook it slightly. "My new wheels."

"Oh!" Mary said, her mouth falling open in surprise. "Let me see."

She knelt down to give it a closer inspection. "It's narrower than your old one. And the armrests are down low! And what's with the tyres? They're like…"

"Bicycle tyres," Matthew finished. "You wouldn't believe how much more comfortable it is as a result."

"Show me how it works," she said interested.

He pulled it back towards him and fastened the brake. And in a matter of seconds he had swung himself into it. He removed the brake, rolled it forward and spun it around in a circle. Mary began to smile. "It seems a lot easier to move!" she said.

"That's an understatement. And it's an awful lot lighter too. Here, if I get out of it, you can lift it up and feel the difference."

She watched in amazement as he hauled himself out of it onto the bed. He pushed it towards her. "Pick it up. See what I mean," he said puffing slightly from the effort.

She grasped it by the wheels and lifted it.

"It must be a third of the weight of your old one," she said. "And you got in and out of it so easily! It's marvellous!"

"It is," said Matthew, almost smug. "That's what I meant before. As of now, I can officially do everything that's every day at home without help. You can't know what that means to me."

"I can only imagine," said Mary, her voice a little emotional. She sat down beside him. "I'm so pleased for you! I really am," she said fervently. She took his hand. "What a difference something that is well designed can make!"

"And it's just in time because Sergeant Barrow starts having weekends off when the home closes and I'll have to manage without him," Matthew continued.

"What about dressing?" Mary asked dubiously.

"I can dress myself," Matthew replied. "You know that. It just takes longer, which doesn't matter on the weekend."

"I can always help you of course," Mary commented.

"Dress me?" Matthew blinked. "Not likely! My dear, I've noticed that you are always far more interested in taking my clothes off than you are in putting them on."

"How observant you are," Mary said archly. "It's your own fault, you know. Being born so ridiculously handsome." She gazed at him, her warm brown eyes mischievous all of a sudden. He poked his tongue out at her, a gesture she always found irresistible and she gave a little gasp and pushed him back onto the bed and they began to kiss.

0-0-0-0-0-0

"You haven't flinched, Lady Mary." Harry Cooke fixed Mary with a hard stare. He had been delivered, unceremoniously to the office door a few minutes prior by a dour-faced young woman: she had abruptly left without so much as a greeting. Mary could only suppose she was his wife.

"And exactly why would I flinch, Mr Cooke?" Mary said evenly, fixing her eyes on the sandy haired young man with the maimed body who was seated opposite her in a rather battered looking wheelchair.

"Most folk do. Some even scream," he said tightly.

"I am not most folk, Mr Cooke," Mary replied coolly.

"Oh," he said, a little nonplussed. "Well, that's a start then," he muttered partly to himself.

"Well I certainly hope so," Mary retorted crisply. "Now, may we continue? I have asked you here to find out about your book keeping and accounting skills. Not to discuss your injuries."

"I don't know why you've bothered, my Lady," the young man shrugged his shoulders hopelessly. "There's plenty out there able to count! I'd only be a nuisance to you." He turned his head away stiffly, his disgust at himself clear to see. _Hmm_ Mary thought to herself. _This is what Molesley was talking about_. She wondered briefly what to do. _Perhaps a less direct approach might work,_ she mused, and she changed the subject.

"Tell me about your family, Mr Cooke. Have you always been in Downton?" she enquired. The young man's head jerked up and it was clear that he was surprised by the question. Eventually he answered. They had been in Downton for three years. They had moved there when he was called up so that his wife could be close to her Aunt.

"And your parents?" Mary asked delicately.

"Mam and Dad passed away, my Lady," he said a little sadly. "Before the war. We've only my wife's Aunt left between the both of us."

Mary asked then, where he had grown up: he told her it was in York, and he also told her of his schooling. She noticed he got a lot happier when he talked of his education, and the night school courses he had started when he had been appointed as an articled clerk to Bond and Brown Accountants.

"What did they have you working on?" she asked conversationally. Mr Cooke explained a little of what he had been tasked with, and what he had found most interesting. "Always a surprise how different firms would keep their books," he commented. "Some easy to follow, some very tricky!"

His remark gave Mary an idea. She stood up and went to the shelves where she knew Jarvis kept the ledger. Returning to the table, she placed the large book down in front of Mr Cooke and opened it at the entries for the current month.

"Tell me what you think of this one," she said, deliberately keeping her tone conversational. "I don't think much of it myself, having kept the hospital books these past few years. But you are rather more expert than I. How would you say this one compares?"

She watched as he rapidly scanned the page, and then flicked back a few more, mouthing silently to himself as he went. Eventually he turned back to the current month's page and looked up.

"Well?" Mary asked, by now genuinely interested in his response.

"You are right not to think much of it," he began. "It is a little too basic, I'd have to say for an operation of this size!" he frowned. "It's very hard to follow what the different cost types are as the columns haven't been used to full advantage. And the entries don't always have the full details included. Look here, my Lady. There's two entries here that don't specify the supplier," he frowned. "And both the entries are for sizeable sums. No way to show what the expense was for! It's rather obtuse, I must say."

Mary smiled to herself, immediately encouraged: Matthew had used that same term, 'obtuse' in an outpouring against Jarvis some time ago, and the lad had picked up on this in a matter of minutes.

"How could it be fixed?" Mary asked, deliberately making her tone sound a little more worried than she really was.

"Very easily," he said immediately. "You decide on the categories you want to track for both the receivables and payables, and start a new month fresh. And with a bit of extra work, the previous month entries could be reconciled back against the new system, to the year's start. It might take a bit to sort out those incomplete entries, but as long as the paper receipts are somewhere it's not impossible." He looked at her frowning. "With respect, Lady Mary, it will need to be done. Do you understand cost accounting? I know it's relatively new to some people, but in my opinion it's not something a person running your size operation should be without."

"I understand the principles," Mary replied. "Is it an area in which you are skilled?" she asked intently.

"To some degree," he responded. "If I'd been able to continue with my courses instead of being sent to war, I would have had the full training on that by now," his face fell as mention of the war reminded him of the here and now. He shrugged, and shook his head, and a look of hopelessness came over him once more.

Mary stared at him, thinking. He realised she was looking at him, and he returned her gaze and waited nervously.

"Mr Cooke," Mary began. "Our discussion this last little while gives me confidence that you are able to do what I require. I am prepared to offer you the role on one condition."

"You are offering me the job?" he said in disbelief.

Mary suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. She forced herself to remember whom she was dealing with: a young man whose confidence, and clearly his manners, had disappeared along with his limbs: a person struggling to come to terms with a life that had been irrevocably changed.

"Yes," she said firmly. "And what is your answer?"

"Well, yes, I would like to. Very much!" he spluttered. But then he frowned, suspicious once more. "You have a condition, my Lady?" he asked nervously.

"My condition is that you begin your studies again, with a view to completing your accountancy examinations and gaining your registration," she said evenly. "I would, of course, make allowance for any study related time that might be required during working hours, for example, if you had to travel to take an exam."

He looked at her strangely, his jaw working slightly. Finally he said, "That is extraordinarily generous of you Lady Mary. But I must ask why. Why would you do this? Do this for me?"

Mary sighed. She stood up and walked across to the window and looked out. She could feel his eyes following her. Eventually she turned and addressed him.

"Mr Cooke," she said. "My reasons are entirely selfish. In time, I would like to have a person trained up who is able to step in and act as the land agent when I am away. Having seen your references and your course marks, and now having met you, I believe that after further studies and experience, you would be capable of this."

"Me? The money side perhaps. But do the work of a land agent?" he scoffed. "Not likely! How am I going to get out and inspect the chimneys on a property?"

"Do you really imagine that the way I will do this job will include me peering up chimneys or climbing onto rooves Mr Cooke?" Mary asked drily.

"Well, no, of course not," he said quickly, looking a little chastened.

"Exactly. You hire people for those jobs Mr Cooke. And then you manage them. So tell me. Would you like the position, knowing the conditions and what I expect from you in the future, or not?"

0-0-0-0-0-0

Matthew had just finished a lengthy telephone call with Arnold Brookby concerning the new contract he was working on for them, when he heard a knock on his door.

"Come in," he said a little wearily, and Beatrice entered.

"Sir," she began. "I'm sorry to interrupt. I know you've just been on a long call, but Mr Carter insisted that I ask you to come to his office as soon as you were free."

"Of course," Matthew said straightening up. He felt nervous. This had to be about Luxmore and Luton. And then he was angry that he was nervous. How ridiculous to have this to deal with on top of everything else! The week so far had been relentless: a lot on at work, and still no Alex to help, and he was melancholy from an early morning call from Lavinia who had told him tearfully that her father had taken to his bed, his health now failing rapidly.

He frowned and pushed back from his desk more forcefully than necessary, and the protest from his overtired muscles made him wince. He was sore all over and he wanted nothing more than to lie down and sleep.

"Are you all right, Sir?" Beatrice looked at him worried.

"I'm fine," Matthew replied irritably.

"You don't look fine to me," Beatrice said firmly, ignoring his tone. "You look completely worn out. Now what do you need for this meeting?" Matthew told her the file he required, which she quickly found. She handed it to him, along with his notebook and pen and before he could argue, she took the handles of his chair and wheeled him through to Charles's office. Matthew sighed, conceding defeat. Beatrice and Sergeant Barrow were clearly cut from the same cloth: no qualms about taking over when they could see he was past it.

Charles motioned them to the table under the window and he brought across his own file and slapped it down. He too, looked irritated. Beatrice raised her eyebrows, a little perplexed. "Gentlemen," she asked solicitously. "A difficult case I take it? Might a nice cup of tea be in order?"

"That would be marvellous Beatrice," Matthew said, feeling a little guilty for his earlier outburst. "And if you have any of that lovely fruit cake left, please bring some of that too," and he gave he an apologetic smile.

"Of course," she nodded returning the smile before turning and leaving the room.

"So what have we got?" Matthew said, dreading what was to come.

"We have a man in a glass house busy throwing stones. Or perhaps rocks in this case," Charles answered soberly. "Matthew, I am sorry, but you are going to have to file for defamation. And you must do it very publicly or you risk both your reputation, and our firms, being tarnished from nothing more than a scurrilous rumour.

"The allegation against Luxmore is for embezzlement. He has not yet been arrested, which is why it hasn't been in the papers. But those in the know are saying that it's now almost certain that he will be. I think we need to go public before that happens, so that you at least stand a small chance of not being dragged into the mud when it does."

"What is being said?" Matthew bit out. "How can I possibly be tied to this?"

Charles didn't answer. Instead he opened the file and removed a pile of papers, placing them in front of Matthew. Matthew scanned them quickly, becoming more and more agitated as he read.

"I never worked on this case!" Matthew said angrily. "Someone has forged my signature! This is outrageous!"

"They have forged your signature," Charles answered grimly. "Unfortunately very well. And it gets worse. Luxmore says he will not deny your involvement. I suspect he is being threatened. Or paid. Or perhaps even both. After all, what could he possibly gain from this insinuation? He can hardly say you were the ringleader as the new boy in the firm when he was the senior partner!"

Matthew stared at his boss, speechless with rage: Was there no end to the lengths Carlisle would go? How much more money would he and Robert need to throw about to fight this man before he would leave the Crawley family alone?

"Who has been putting this about?" he said finally, his voice hard.

"The furthest back we can trace it is to a Viscount Thomas Trent," Charles replied. "Have you ever heard of him?"

Matthew shook his head. "Never. But Robert may have. He is far better acquainted with noble families than I."

"He is the one who has been associated with these papers that I have now managed to obtain through some rather circuitous means. And he is the one you will need to file a case against immediately. And Luxmore of course."

"All right, all right. Just do it," Matthew said wearily. His head was beginning to pound.

"You'll need a barrister," Charles said.

"Eddie. Instruct Eddie. He's excellent at litigation. And next to you and I, Eddie knows the most about Carlisle and how he works. Shall I call him, or will you?"

"I will," Charles said firmly. "You need to go home. And I don't want to see you here tomorrow."

Matthew opened his mouth to protest, but Charles held his hand up.

"Matthew. You are exhausted. You must put your health first," he said his tone reproving. "We need you, but you are no good to us if you make yourself ill! We know this extra therapy you are doing is taxing. And it is in all our interests it has a good outcome. I'll have Beatrice rearrange your appointments."

"Charles, I hate letting clients down. We're keeping people waiting!" Matthew couldn't keep the frustration out of his voice.

"So be it," Charles answered evenly. "Britain might have thought of that before it allowed thousands of its young lawyers to be slaughtered all at once. And badly injured so many more, like yourself. Put your health first. Our clients will have to wait."

0-0-0-0-0-0

"What is it?" Tom asked Matthew, eyeing him through the rear vision mirror. "You seem very out of sorts. It's not me leaving is it?" he quipped. It was his last day as Lord Grantham's chauffeur.

Matthew snorted. "I wish you leaving was the only thing I had to be upset about," he said a little grimly. "The truth is… oh for god's sake Tom, I don't know where to start," he leaned back on the seat and shut his eyes.

"Do you want to go home via the pub?" Tom asked, concerned.

"I need to lie down. But tell you what, have a drink with me at our suite. Mary's on the blasted evening shift again and I'd appreciate some company."

Tom sniggered. "She and Sybil both. It sounds like they are working double shifts for these last weeks: apparently they lost another two nurses to other jobs with the home set to close so soon."

"Exactly," Matthew sighed.

"So when should I come?" Tom asked, and they arranged it for six o'clock.

At the allotted time, Tom made his way a little nervously to Matthew's suite. Whilst there was now officially a peace between himself and Lord Grantham, he wasn't at all keen at running into him unexpectedly, especially not inside his house.

"Mr Branson," Sergeant Barrow announced. Tom nodded to him, and walked into the sitting room, looking about with interest.

"It's very nice!" he commented to Matthew, who was stretched out on the sofa looking a lot less pained than he had been in the car: Barrow had given him a vigorous rub down, and a draught for his headache immediately he had arrived home.

"It is. We really like it," Matthew smiled. "I forgot you hadn't seen it. Have a look through if you like, but tell us what you want to drink first."

"Do you have any beer?" Tom asked a little sheepishly.

"Sergeant Barrow," Matthew asked. "Does Lord Grantham's cellar stretch to beer?"

"I'm sure anything can be found in Lord Grantham's cellar," Sergeant Barrow's lips twitched. "I'll see what I can do. And how about for yourself, Sir?"

"Soda and lemon," Matthew replied, not up to dealing with any disapproval from his valet for drinking with a headache, should he dare ask for the whiskey he would far rather have.

Whilst Barrow was out organising their drinks, Tom took a quick look around the rest of the rooms and the terrace.

"It's perfect for you," he commented, arriving back about the same time as the Sergeant. "And all the right gadgets in the bathroom!"

"That was Sybil. She gave the builders the specifications the hospitals use. So that I can manage without help," Matthew replied.

"It's impressive how much she knows about this rehabilitation area now," Tom remarked. "But I'm a little worried what she's doing to you!" he frowned. You've been getting more and more tired all week!"

"It's me, not her," Matthew countered. "I should be resting more between sessions than I am."

"What's been stopping you?" Tom asked.

"What we have on at work. But Charles insisted this afternoon that I take tomorrow off anyway," Matthew rolled his eyes. He took a sip of his soda and looked across at Tom, his face troubled. "And there is something else! I don't know if you ever heard about all that trouble with Sir Richard Carlisle," he said. "We thought we'd got rid of him once and for all when he was arrested for war treason, but he's after revenge and muck raking after everyone and anyone he thinks ever wronged him. The latest thing he is up to is trying to defame me. I found out the extent of it all today."

Tom frowned and leaned forward. "Sybil has told me a bit. Enough that I know he's a nasty bastard. So what's this latest?" Tom's eyes grew wide as Matthew explained. "No wonder you're exhausted! All this worry! If I were you I'd be tempted to turn up at his jail and throw him a punch."

Matthew snorted. "Nice idea. The pity is you'd be locked up too! No, all we can do is try and beat him at his own game."

The two of them sat in silence for a while and sipped their drinks.

"You know you might just use the publicity to turn all this around to your benefit," Tom said eventually. "Use it as a chance to get some of your clients to publicly vouch for your integrity and the like. Drop in the fact you are a decorated Captain. Your charity work," Tom shrugged. "Could end up being a marvellous opportunity to get more recognition for your firm! I mean, there's a lot there especially put alongside this man Luxmore, who by the sounds has always had a chequered reputation."

"You think?" Matthew straightened up and looked at Tom intently.

"Absolutely. I could help you if you like. And Lieutenant Napier could too, at least with the contacts. He's quite well networked into the newspapers now, since his work lobbying for the King's national roll scheme."

"I'd forgotten about that!" Matthew said. "So tell me Tom. Just how do you see that this could work?"

0-0-0-0-0-0

The task of closing down the convalescent home was almost complete. The patients had been relocated to other rehabilitation homes and hospitals, and the last of the equipment was being loaded into the Medical Corps lorries. Housemaids were moving in to clean the rooms thoroughly before the decorators Cora had arranged arrived to repaint and paper.

Edith was snapping, upset when one of the movers banged a metal bedstead against the drawing room door, and then cross with a housemaid who started work on one of the rooms which still had medical equipment to be removed.

Mary contemplated her sister silently for a moment, simultaneously irritated and concerned: the Mary of old, reacting out of a life spent in close confines with a sister with whom she had little in common; and the Mary of now, the Mary that Matthew had released and allowed to blossom, thinking t_his is Edith in pain, something is wrong_. And it was that Mary who finally spoke. "What's the matter?" she asked. "You don't seem yourself."

Edith sighed and sat down all of a sudden. "It's Anthony," she said, twisting her hands together nervously. "It's something he said to me yesterday that has me worried. I think he is getting cold feet about our marriage. This late!" and with that her face crumpled and she gave a sob.

"What?" Mary said frowning. "Why?"

"It's been since we got that upsetting prognosis from the specialist," Edith said, sniffing. "As you know it's not good with the gas damage to his lungs. Anthony started saying things like may be this is a pipe dream, and that he shouldn't be condemning me to a life of nursing a dying man!"

"Oh my dear," Mary said shaking her head. She sat down next to her sister and mulled over what she had said. Edith had flourished in the time she and Sir Anthony had been seeing each other. He was a kindly man, and he had always supported her work with the convalescent home. Now with that looking to finish, he had been talking with her about taking an active role in managing the farms on his estate, something Mary knew Edith was greatly looking to: early in the war she had spent time as a land girl and it had suited her very well.

And yet it was also true that Sir Anthony was not a well man. He had lost the use of his right arm. The gas damage to his lungs was severe, and he tired easily. The specialist had advised that his life expectancy could be as little as eight to ten years, and that well before that he could expect his quality of life to deteriorate.

"What do you want, Edith?" Mary said at last.

"I have told Anthony I want us to be together for as long as we have. I know his time is limited. And that makes it even more important to me that we are married! I'd rather have a few happy years with him than none at all!" Edith took out her handkerchief and dabbed her eyes.

"And besides, it's not as though I don't know what I'm getting myself in for! After all I've seen and done here I know exactly what caring for him will take. And there is money for me to hire help if later on it becomes too much. I just want him in my life!" her voice shook and she dabbed at her eyes again.

"It sounds like you are very clear about it," Mary commented. "But Anthony is not?"

"No. And part of it is that he is worried about what Papa thinks."

"But Papa is supportive of you marrying isn't he?"

"Papa was supportive when we were first engaged which was of course before he was injured. But from Anthony's perspective, this latest news has thrown everything up in the air again," Edith said glumly. "I think the problem is, Papa has never explicitly said he still supports us, and his first comment to Anthony when we told him the prognosis last week was "I hope you don't expect Edith to be your nursemaid!"

Mary rolled her eyes. "We can't win with our parents can we," she said drily. "Mama made all sorts of insinuations to me about being nothing more than Matthew's nursemaid when we were first engaged. And now Papa is serving you up the same!" she shook her head.

Edith shrugged and threw her hands up. "Exactly. And I am at a loss at what to do. I've tried talking to Anthony, but he seems to be deliberately shutting me out," her mouth turned down at the corners and her bottom lip began to quiver again.

"How about you approach Papa and ask him to talk with Anthony?" Mary suggested.

Edith shook her head. "I couldn't ask Papa about this. I would be too scared he would try and use it as an opportunity to talk me out of it," she pressed her lips together in a thin line and stared at her sister. "Could you talk to him Mary?" she beseeched.

Mary shook her head. "I doubt I'd get any further than you would. It's a pity Evelyn is not here. Him in a room with both Anthony and Papa would soon sort the problem. He has known them both for years and he has their respect."

Edith stared at her. "You don't think Matthew might try do you?" she said at last.

"What could Matthew do that we couldn't?" Mary asked intently.

"Actually have Papa listen, for one thing. And perhaps also convince Papa that we are actually in love perhaps?" Edith shrugged. "That is what I think he fails to see."

"I'll ask him," Mary said. "It's probably worth a try."

0-0-0-0-0-0

The dining room was silent, save the rhythmic tick from the grandfather clock, and the murmured voices of Cora and the girls drifting back from the adjacent drawing room. Robert took a long draw on his cigar and then exhaled slowly. He leaned back in his chair and cocked his head at Matthew. "So my boy. You said you wanted to ask me about something. What is it? Has something else come up about your defamation case?"

"No, it isn't that. Everything is in place now, and the papers are ready to be filed. And while we're on that topic, I did want to thank you again for that information you gave us about Viscount Trent. It's been a real breakthrough. I mean, now we know almost certainly that Carlisle is getting significant help in his muckraking from one of his major shareholders! We just need to figure out what's behind it, so that when we finally approach the police with all of this, we can do so knowing Carlisle's accomplices have been so weakened he won't have any ammunition left to damage us with."

"And of course it's you and I who will continue to fund all of this clandestine activity," Robert rolled his eyes. "Not that for a moment I am suggesting we don't, my boy," he added hastily.

"We will, Robert. And the truth is, we really don't have any choice," Matthew gave a heavy sigh. They were quiet a moment, reflecting on the week that had been: the urgent meetings to prepare the defamation case, and the meetings to plan the announcements and confirm the journalists that would be approached.

"So what was it?" Robert asked, suddenly remembering Matthew hadn't actually voiced what was on his mind.

"Oh, of course, I almost forgot," Matthew said, a little flustered. He was finding it hard to focus on anything other than the defamation case such was his nervousness about it and the publicity it would ensue. He looked across at Robert and toyed with his tumbler of scotch.

"It's about Anthony," he began.

Robert's smile faded. "Dreadful prognosis for the poor man! And after all he's been through already," he tsk tsked.

"It is, and it's having quite a few repercussions. Apparently Anthony is having second thoughts about whether he should be getting married."

"Yes, well I've been having second thoughts about that union as well, I must admit," Robert frowned. "He's almost my age, and not only is he injured, but his health is set to worsen. Edith will be consigned to the life of a nursemaid, and it will be sooner, not later!"

Matthew looked at him, surprised. "And how is Edith marrying an injured man so very different to Mary marrying me?" he asked quietly.

"It's his age! Edith might not the prettiest of my daughters, but compared to so many others, she is a fine young woman. Surely she should be looking for a union with a much younger man, without all this to contend with," Robert replied.

"But Edith has not found a younger man," Matthew countered. "She has instead fallen in love with an older man, and a very fine man at that. He treats her very well. He is intelligent. He can give her children. And if wealth really is a factor you see as mattering, then he's got plenty of that, and a title! So I ask again: how, really, is it different to me marrying Mary?"

"But you and Mary love each other! Your union is rock solid," Robert said. "That makes it very different!"

Matthew cocked his head at him, surprised for the second time. "Don't you see how in love Anthony is with Edith?" He raised his eyebrows. "And Edith with Anthony? Edith is a far kinder and happier person since she met him! They are devoted to each other."

"You think so?" Robert looked at Matthew.

"I know so." Matthew was quiet a moment, thinking on what Robert had said. _I wonder if he has Edith stuck back as a young girl... is he still seeing the Edith of before the war perhaps?_ he mused.

"Robert," he said delicately. "Edith is of age. She does not require your permission to marry. But we do know that Anthony will not marry her if he so much has a hint of disapproval from you for this union, such is the respect he holds you in as an old and dear friend. And it appears that right now, he does think he no longer has your support.

"Edith and Anthony have been heavily involved in the war effort. They are both realists. They know Anthony has limited time. They have already agreed arrangements for his care longer term. And Edith has just had four years exposed to every kind and level of nursing there possibly is – she is certainly entering this union with her eyes wide open. Does that not make a difference to you either?" he challenged.

"You are convinced that he loves her, and that it is beyond just a fatherly affection?" Robert asked sceptically.

"Absolutely. I've seen how his demeanour changes when she walks into the room. How his face lights up when they talk together. How she talks of him constantly, lovingly, when she is apart from him," Matthew said fixing his eyes on Robert's. "They share that, and they also share a love of farming, which as we know, Sir Anthony has been highly successful at. They will work well as husband and wife, and they will work well as business partners." Matthew paused and sat back. "Why should they be denied even a few happy years together Robert? I suspect Anthony hearing the right words from you could make all the difference."

Matthew drained the remains of his scotch, and watched as Robert sat lost in thought. He placed the tumbler on the table and rolled his chair back. "I'm going to go through now Robert. Will you come?"

"In a minute," Robert replied, his fingers drumming on the dining room table.

Matthew nodded, and wheeled himself across the room to the drawing room door. Just as he reached it, Robert called out. "Matthew," he said. "Ask Edith to step in for a minute will you?" Matthew spun his chair to face Robert and gave him a brief smile. "Of course," and turning back, he opened the drawing room door and went to fetch her.


	42. Chapter 42

Sybil and Mary both sighed with relief as Reverend Travis wrapped his stole around both Edith and Anthony's wrists and began reciting the nuptial blessing.

"He made it through the vows!" Sybil murmured behind her glove.

"And look, he seems truly happy about it," Mary whispered back, her lips twitching.

And Anthony was: Robert's late night trip to talk to him the week before, in which he had made clear his support for their union had reassured the man. Matthew and Tom had provided further solidarity, first with a trip out to Loxley during which they took Anthony for an outing in Matthew's new car, and then with pre-wedding drinks, which to the pleasant surprise of all three, proved highly enjoyable. And when they parted company at the end of the night, it was as if they were already brothers-in-law.

The evening's conversation came back to Matthew now, as he and the rest of the congregation murmured _"Amen"_ in response to Travis's words: _"… What therefore God hath joined together let no man put asunder."_

Wanting to tap Tom and Anthony's knowledge of agriculture, Matthew had shared with them some of the concerns Mary had been discussing with him about the Downton properties.

"How about farming the land yourselves?" Anthony said. "There's a lot to be gained in creating economies of scale, you know."

"How could we achieve that?" Matthew replied dubiously. "Robert keeps telling us that history obliges the estate to keep the tenants on the land."

Anthony paused for a moment, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "With a bit of care, Matthew, you might be able to keep at least some of the families on the land, but there under different arrangements. Make them managers and farm workers instead. That way you could work to people's strengths. Anything has to be better than this series of small-scale mixed farms you've currently got, of which only a minority is profitable!"

"And now is the chance to do it," Tom chimed in. "Those tenants in arrears are in breach of their agreements in any case. A review can only make sense."

Matthew looked at Tom in surprise. "Am I hearing Tom Branson say that? You're the last man I would have thought to take the landlord's perspective!"

Tom sniggered. "I may be a socialist at heart. But I also know the pride a working man earns from a job well done. These people must know they're not succeeding. I'll bet some are at their wit's end. Go to them with any half decent alternative, and I think you'll find they will leap at the chance for a change."

Matthew surveyed him intently for a moment. He wasn't convinced it would be that easy, but he conceded that Tom had a point: being able to offer the tenants in arrears an out with something completely different might just be the ticket.

Later in the discussion, Anthony asked how they intended to fund the improvements. "It's going to cost you know," he said. "You have to spend money to make money. And these properties are behind the times. They haven't seen investment in new breeds, crops or plant for years. Don't underestimate the capital you will need to turn them around."

Matthew nodded. "I think Mary is just starting to see that. She was talking just the other day about needing to get some figures together."

"And where will you look to source the capital?" Anthony asked directly.

Matthew leaned back, swirling the whisky around his glass. "We haven't given that much thought as yet," he said slowly. "I will have some funds I can put in if these next few deals and mergers I'm involved with come off. Success fees," he added, seeing the quizzical expression on Anthony's face. "A lot more lucrative than the fee for service arrangements I've worked under in the past. And Robert has a little that could be made available, although he did take quite a serious hit with the Canadian Railway bankruptcy."

"Hmm, Edith told me," Anthony shook his head. "Thank the Lord it was only part of Cora's fortune." He looked at Matthew then, pursing his lips. "You know, if Mary is able to put together a sound business case, we might be interested in investing."

"Would you really?" It was Anthony taking Matthew by surprise this time.

"With yourself and Mary at the helm, we might well be," the older man replied. "Think about it, Matthew. And when things are a little clearer, let's talk again."

The wedding ceremony proved to be the highlight in what transpired to be, for all of Edith's immediate family, a most unsettling day.

Mary circulated, as she knew she must, making small talk to the many esteemed guests in attendance at her sister's large wedding. She was Lord Grantham's oldest daughter and the Countess-in-Waiting after all. _And this is the wedding I should have had, but didn't want,_ she thought uncomfortably.

Things started well enough, with Lady Branksome and her mother. Mary and Cora asked after Evelyn and were reassured to hear that he was steadily improving without any further setbacks. Mary was taken with her navy outfit and its white trim: it had simple lines in a style reminiscent of Coco Chanel, a matching hat and handbag completing the ensemble.

"Esther Pearson made it for me! She has a real talent, you know," Lady Branksome said admiringly. "All of us who have had her do outfits get so many compliments. And her name is getting out there as a result!"

"How marvellous for her. And so early in her business!" Mary said, thinking how the income would improve things for Esther's children. She felt very pleased. She and Matthew had provided Esther with a loan to fund a modern sewing machine and the printing of some trade cards. Matthew had insisted to Esther that the loan was repayable only once both Ryan and Molly had finished their schooling. Esther, equally firm, had made clear to them both that she intended to have it repaid well before then.

"I'm delighted you chose to wear it here," Cora added in an approving tone. "If Esther knew, she would be over the moon!" Cora had seen more than a little of Esther since Matthew had introduced them. The two women had taken an instant liking to each other: Cora seeing in Esther a competent mother and a woman with similar interests to herself, and Esther put at ease by Cora's relative lack of pretentiousness and friendliness towards her children. In her typical American way, Cora had had no qualms at all in befriending a middle-class woman with informed opinions on art and fashion, and she had been instrumental in assisting Esther to get the word out about her design and dressmaking business amongst the circles of the well-to-do.

"She will be over the moon when the inquiries start coming in," Lady Branksome agreed. "I've already handed out her trade card to no less than four of the women here!"

Cora smiled, and she raised her champagne glass. "Ladies, I think we should drink to that. Forget London! Here's to North Yorkshire instead," she said, exaggerating her American accent just a little. "The new centre for _haute couture_!" Mary and Lady Branksome began to laugh, Cora joining in, and then the three of them clinked their glasses.

Things went downhill after that. As the afternoon wore on, and the sunshine gave way to a blanket of grey cloud, Mary became increasingly bothered. The superficiality of the conversations grated. And when she found herself forced to endure a third round of insinuating comments about her marriage to Matthew she got angry. This time it was Marchioness Doncourt. Marriage seemed the only topic the Marchioness was interested in discussing with her and Aunt Rosamund, and very soon she turned her focus to Edith and Mary's.

"The price both you girls have had to pay for your positions," she tut-tutted eventually, glancing pointedly across at Anthony, his injured arm cradled in a simple black sling, and then at Matthew, who was engaged in a conversation with Robert and Lord Merton. "Such a shame, particularly for you, Mary. And he had been such a pretty boy too," she shook her head pityingly. Rosamund, standing beside her, shot her a warning glance, but Lady Doncourt ploughed on. "Still, it could be worse. Better tied to a cripple than a jailbird!" she tittered at her own feeble excuse for a joke. Rosamund shot Mary a look of alarm and fidgeted uncomfortably with her champagne flute.

"And do tell me, my dear," the Marchioness continued, oblivious to both Rosamund and Mary's discomfort. "Was it the title he could offer, or the escape from Sir Richard Carlisle that tipped the balance?"

Fighting back an overwhelming urge to slap her, Mary drew herself up to her full height and fixed the woman with an icy stare.

"Have you forgotten your manners Lady Doncourt? Or am I mistaken in ever thinking you may have possessed them at all?" she said coldly. "Your insinuations disgust me. I married Matthew for love, firstly, lastly, always. Now if you will excuse me, there are others here whose company I would rather keep to that of a woman who dares to belittle myself and my husband," and furious, Mary strode off, leaving Rosamund to deal with the astonished woman in her wake.

Matthew wished Evelyn had been able to attend. He felt like a fish out of water, divided not only by class but also by the war. There were a few moments of light relief: Edith and Anthony in the midst of a 'just married' tiff over a late change Anthony had made to the Breakfast seating arrangements which had seen two of Edith's friends seated apart from each other. Edith had flounced off, leaving Anthony open mouthed and shaking his head slightly. He and Matthew had made eyes at each other and were soon laughing as they commiserated together on the perils of being married to forthright Crawley women.

Another moment came as he witnessed Sybil calmly informing Larry Grey, who had placed an unwelcome hand on her waist, that it was time he desisted from flirting with her as she was now betrothed to a certain Mr Tom Branson, political journalist for the _Daily Herald_ in London. Larry's look of dismay as he snatched back his hand soon turned to derision as his younger brother Tim leaned across to whisper loudly that by the way, this was the same Branson that had been Lord Grantham's chauffeur. Matthew's amusement grew as he watched Larry attempt to compose a suitable retort, but Larry was too slow. Sybil, lifting her chin up, and fixing Larry with a withering stare, got in first.

"And what a relief it will be, to be married to a man who is not only **intelligent**," she said with deliberate emphasis, "but who also bothers to get himself informed before deigning to offer an opinion," she said icily. "In contrast to the small-minded bigots that unfortunately pass for gentlemen amongst our lot," and with a toss of her pretty head, she turned on her heel and walked off.

A couple of Anthony's acquaintances were pleasant enough. Matthew also found himself warming to Mary's godfather Lord Merton, whom he noticed was quite friendly with his mother. Lord Merton was very interested in what he and Evelyn were up to with their Veteran's Trust, and also in how Matthew was faring with his own rehabilitation.

"You know, if I had my time again my boy, I think I would have liked to be a Doctor," he said reflectively. "But my father was against it. So rather than read science at University, I was indoctrinated in the ways of a gentleman and the governance of our estate," he said ruefully. "And the marriage of course…" his voice trailed off as he thought back to his deceased wife, of whom Matthew had heard from Robert, had been a rather trying creature.

After a minute he continued. "Well, it was typical of our lot," he mused. "A joining for the sake of money and position. Not an altogether happy union." He shook himself then and forced a smile. "Quite marvellous to see that you and Mary have wed out of true love. Cherish that, my boy. Many don't have that luxury."

"That is what Mary says," Matthew replied. "Although for myself, being raised as I was, I never thought one would look to wed under any other circumstance," he paused and smiled wryly at Dickie Grey. "Of course now I recognise it may be an overly idealistic notion."

"Perhaps," Dickie Grey smiled. "But you have been raised by the admirable Isobel. And in you, I see a man instilled with the very best of values as a result. Hold onto those, Matthew, and your life will be a lot happier and more satisfying than it has been for many others of us."

"Thank you, Sir," Matthew said humbly, reflecting how hard it was to reconcile the kind and thoughtful man that was Lord Merton, with the rude and arrogant Larry and Tim. He recalled his mother's words then, spoken after he had arrived home, furious, from a dinner at which the two had been openly rude to another guest: _"My dear boy,"_ she had said. _"Don't let those young men bother you. There are few that enjoy their company even among aristocrats! They take after their late mother: even their dear father despairs for them!"_

But for the most part, the afternoon was simply tedious. The feeble intellect of so many of the nobility never ceased to amaze him. And few of the gentlemen to whom he was introduced had fought. Amongst the handful there that had, was the instant connection, the camaraderie and understanding, and a genuine interest in how each other was faring post-war.

But a sense of barely contained animosity to any talk of it amongst some of the other guests left Matthew disconcerted. The discomfort of the guests who had lost sons he could understand: he, so obviously war wounded, was too much a reminder. And a discussion, late in the day with the Marquess of Doncourt bothered him most of all. A discourse about the recent announcement of British troops being sent to fight in Afganistan had led to a conversation about the economic cost of the war, and then out of the blue the Marquess had remarked, "Of course it's a bit of a damn shame it's over."

"A shame the war is over?" Matthew echoed, not sure if he was hearing him right.

"Well, of course, it's a relief the killing has stopped," he said with false sincerity, "but we have enjoyed the profits it has brought very much, and I can't see us getting profits like that again," he said ruefully.

"And in which industry were you enjoying these profits?" Matthew asked, deliberately adopting an innocent tone.

"Arm.. ahem, steel," the man gave a sudden cough, his eyes flicking to the tumbler of scotch in his hand as if he knew he had revealed too much.

"Armaments," Matthew said clearly. "I see. For which companies?"

"Various ones," the Marquess gave a sudden shrug, his evasive response lighting a flame of suspicion in Matthew's mind. The man quickly changed the subject.

"I understand from Robert you were a Captain for the Duke of Manchester's Own?" he remarked. Matthew nodded. "Hmm. And, tell me my boy, why the devil didn't he organise a desk job for you this side?" he said looking quite obviously at Matthew's wheelchair.

Matthew gritted his teeth. "In case it escaped your attention, Sir," he said forcing himself to keep his tone even, "our Servicemen came from all walks of life. Unless one is royalty, no class exemption from active service applies."

"What a nonsense," the Marquess scoffed. "I got my lad a desk job in Whitehall for the duration," he said with barely concealed pride. "Just took a little string pulling. Nothing Lord Grantham couldn't have done either for his heir had he so wished!"

"And what, pray tell, does your son make of your gloating to ex-servicemen that you kept him out of combat?" Matthew asked coldly.

I, what… well. Only an idiot would put himself deliberately in the line of fire!" he spluttered.

"I see." Matthew tone became even colder. "So you say those men of all ages and classes who volunteered out of a real concern for their country's freedom were idiots? And the conscripts also, who lacked the contacts or deep enough pockets to buy a signature that could keep them this side?"

The Marquess opened his mouth to respond, but Matthew, seeing Robert approaching, cut across him. "Oh, there's Lord Grantham," and he beckoned him. "Robert," he said evenly. "Lord Doncourt is horrified that you didn't misuse your favour with the war office and prevent me from serving on the Western Front. He seems to assume you would have interfered in a decision that I took as mine alone.

"He also believes that those who served on the front line were idiots to do so. Might I request that as a decorated veteran of the second Boer war and the former Lieutenant Colonel of the North Riding Volunteers, you kindly enlighten him on matters of service, duty and honour? These all appear sentiments with which he is ill acquainted," and he fixed the man with a hard stare. There was an awkward silence. Finally, Matthew cleared his throat and said stiffly, "Good afternoon, Lord Doncourt. If you will kindly excuse me, I must find my wife," and with a flick of his wrist he turned his chair around and went in search of Mary, leaving Robert standing with the open-mouthed Marquess.

When at last it seemed that their departure from the reception would no longer be considered rude, Mary and Matthew farewelled Edith and Anthony and made their escape. Without needing to speak, they progressed to the lakeside, Mary sinking onto their bench with an audible sigh of relief. Matthew drew his wheelchair up alongside, and they gazed out across the dark expanse of rippling water, the smell of damp earth and the rhythmic lapping of the waves against the shore soothing to them both.

"Well, Edith got the day she never dreamed she'd have," Mary remarked eventually.

"But did she really enjoy it?" Matthew asked sceptically.

"Of course she enjoyed it!" Mary turned to look at him in surprise. "How could she not? She was the centre of attention! All those patricians and their overdressed wives lined up to congratulate her!" there was a slight edge to her voice, reminiscent of the old Mary talking, and Matthew chuckled, despite his irritation with the day that had been.

"My dear. Am I depicting just a little green eye that it was your somewhat plainer middle sister who got to wear the couture gown?"

"Oh, do shut up," Mary said. She stood abruptly and strode a few steps away, her hands on her hips, back to him. Matthew looked after her, a strange expression on his face.

After a minute, she spoke. "I've changed, Matthew," she said quietly. "And today I got a shock at just how much. And it's made me…" she turned back to him, wringing her hands. "It made me feel lost. I'm not sure who I am anymore," she tried to explain. "Perhaps I'm not fit to be a Countess after all! I mean, Edith, for god's sake, Edith can play this game now so much better than me. All that petty, endlessly inane conversation," she said viciously, coming to sit by him again.

"Who upset you?" Matthew asked.

Mary gave a bitter laugh. "A fair few. But the Marchioness of Doncourt took the cake."

Matthew snorted. "You're kidding me. I had a run in with her husband!"

"Good riddance," Mary huffed.

"So what was it?" Matthew inquired.

"She was rude about us," Mary said shortly, reluctant to say much more.

"Oh," Matthew replied, knowing from her reaction it would have been a presumption from the Marchioness that Mary had married him only for position. He set his jaw. And the cheek of the woman to say it to Mary! Ever since he had come to Downton he had found abhorrent the manner in which some aristocrats seemed to regard the in's and out's of one's marriage as a suitable topic for public discussion.

"They deserve each other then," he said grimly. "Her husband is another Carlisle. He was rueing the end of the war. Had investments in armaments apparently. And the way he said it… " Matthew's voice trailed off. He had been brooding on the man's strange response for the past hour. It had seemed 'off' somehow.

"One of our arms companies?" Mary asked in surprise.

"Well, that's just it. Mary, I don't think it is." He shook his head. "Anyway. Enough about him. And her! Let's just agree they will never be on any invitation list to a party that we organise, shall we?"

"They most certainly will not," Mary said hotly. They lapsed into silence again and Matthew was concerned to see the troubled expression still on his wife's face.

"Mary?" he reached for her hand and began to trace circles on her palm. She turned to him, her eyes wide. "I meant what I said, Matthew. I don't know who I am any more. I loathed today for so many reasons. But I can't possibly be a middle-class woman either. I can't cook, I can't sew, I can't garden! And I would go mad in a small house!"

"Mary," Matthew said patiently, reaching to grasp both her hands. "Why must it be either, or? I'm not asking you to live in a small house and do the chores! And on the other side, why does being Lady Mary mean you and I must suffer the fools we both had to put up with today in the future? Surely we can shape how we want to live our lives now, and when the time comes, as the Earl and Countess?"

Mary sighed. "You're right. Of course, we can. But doing so requires that I reassess so much of what I was raised to believe. And that is not easy."

"Of course it's not easy," Matthew said quietly. "It's not easy for me, either. But if we both stay true to ourselves, and who we really are, I'm sure we'll find a way."

They made love that afternoon. It seemed an imperative. To make them right again, to reassure each other that their relationship was whole and that they were vital, and they were not the ones living in a world of make-believe where appearance was all that mattered. And it wasn't enough. They went to dinner reluctantly, and it was a somewhat subdued affair: Whilst there was a general feeling of happiness for Edith, now off on her honeymoon at a location known only to Sir Anthony's valet Antoine, and Edith's new maid Gertrude, the day had tired them all, and in ways none of them had quite expected.

They talked little. Robert was silent, still shocked by the Marquess of Doncourt and his most unpatriotic remarks. He had also felt keenly the absence of so many of the young men he had watched grow up: far too many sons of friends had perished in the war.

On top of the mother-of-the-bride elation and exhaustion, Cora too was melancholy. Far too few of her guests had acknowledged or even appeared interested in how she and Robert were adjusting without the convalescent home operating from Downton, and even fewer asked how it was for her, going from three years of intense activity back to a life of leisure. It left her strangely disappointed and somehow bereft. And the continual smiling and pretending that everything was as it had always been between her and Robert… well that, too, proved far harder than she could ever have imagined.

Mary and Matthew were focused only on when they could escape and be alone again: they brushed hands and shoulders at every opportunity and flashed each other the occasional smouldering look when they thought no one was looking. Desire burned in them both. Sybil noticed anyway, and for want of any other distraction, she watched them on the sly, and as the meal progressed, she found it harder and harder to keep her face straight. When Matthew announced after dessert that he wasn't feeling well and needed to retire early, Mary tut-tutting that she must go with him, Sybil gave a loud snort that she lamely attempted to turn into a cough.

Cora turned to her and snapped. "Sybil! Just what has got into you? Smirking and coughing! You're acting up like a silly girl! Where is your sense of decorum?"

"Sorry Mama," Sybil muttered contritely, keeping her eyes downcast. Her mother was clearly irritable, and Sybil had an inkling why: whilst she hadn't expected to enjoy the afternoon and nor had Matthew, she knew Mary and her parents had, and having seen them during and afterwards, she was painfully aware that all of them, in some way had found it wanting.

Robert spoke then, suddenly aware that Cora, like him, was a little out of sorts. "Perhaps all of us might retire early. It's been quite a day after all. Cora?" he smiled understandingly at his wife. And for the first time in weeks, Cora managed to smile back, and the pair of them stood and excused themselves, the others quickly following.

"Finally!" Mary breathed as she and Matthew reached the hallway to their suite.

"And your naughty sister knew exactly what we were up to!" Matthew chuckled. It was shortly followed by a yawn. "But I wasn't being completely untruthful. I am quite worn out."

"Bed then?" Mary suggested. He nodded and went in the direction of the bathroom. Mary proceeded to the dressing room and rang immediately for Anna.

Matthew was in the process of removing his clothes when Mary entered the bedroom a little while later. "I might need a hand," he said tiredly, pulling his leg up to remove his shoe. "This is ridiculous. Changing three times in one day! It's exhausting."

"Not ridiculous considering what today was," Mary countered, kneeling down to take off his other shoe for him. "Before the war, I'd often change five times on an ordinary day! Now that was ridiculous," she said wryly. "But you could have done with Barrow today, all the same."

"I could have," Matthew sighed. "Perhaps I need to see if Alfred could help when we have these busy weekends."

"Talk to him. I'm sure he would appreciate the opportunity. And the extra money!" Mary replied.

Matthew got himself onto the bed, and Mary helped him out of the rest of his clothes. He slid in between the sheets and leered at her so obviously that Mary began to giggle. "I take it that means you don't want your pyjamas," she smirked.

"What use could they possibly serve?" Matthew said innocently.

"None whatsoever. Does that also mean you wish me to remove my sleeping attire?"

"I would think so. And better still, please do so right now, right here, where I can enjoy the view!"

Mary flashed him a sultry look and immediately obliged, enjoying the appreciative noises he made as the silk nightgown came off. She climbed into bed alongside him and they sat silently for a few minutes, looking at each other, appreciating being alone again.

Mary gazed at her husband's face, enjoying what she saw. She allowed herself a moment to get lost in the hypnotic beauty of his eyes: Another to lean in close and inhale his warmth and scent. "Mmm," she breathed. She studied the exquisite shape and colour of his lips, which begged to be kissed. So kiss she did, and her insistent tongue and sweet taste unhinged him.

Intoxicated, he groaned and fell back against the pillows, pulling her with him. Mary lifted her head up and flashed him a seductive smile before dipping down to administer another long and highly arousing kiss. After catching his eyes with another sultry look she began a titillating exploration of his naked form, brushing lazy circles down the fine muscles of his forearms and marvelling, as she so often did, at the elegance of his hands. She traced each of his long, slender fingers and tickled his palms, revelling in how he quivered at her touch. Next, she rained kisses down his body, starting at the soft skin of his throat and tracking all the way down his chest and abdomen, enjoying the curls of his body hair tickling her face as she went.

"Mary, what the…" he said raggedly when she kissed him there, and began working his balls with her hand. And then she took him fully in her mouth, stroking him firmly with her tongue until he was hard. She sat up then, her own body now throbbing with need, and carefully kneeled over him. His eyes widened and he shivered as he felt her sex, hot and wet against his waist.

"Let's try something," she whispered. "Can you sit up?" He nodded mutely and pushed himself up. She wrapped her arms around him and positioned herself over his groin. "Is this all right?" she murmured, hesitating for an instant. "Not hurting your back?"

"Might need something to lean on," he muttered, and Mary reached for the pillows and piled them up carefully behind him.

"Better?"

"Mm-hmm" he said, and he put his hands on her bottom. Their eyes locked together, and he held her firmly as she lowered herself onto him and worked him inside her.

"God, Matthew," her voice shook. He kissed her hard then, and they grabbed at each other wildly, desperate to be as close as possible. She moved against him, growling, taking him deeper and deeper. His hands clutched hard, almost painfully at her buttocks, helping her find a rhythm. The stubble of his top lip scratched her face but she didn't care. The rougher the better.

She pulled him tightly to her, relishing in his heat and sweat, and increased her tempo. At one point she pushed back from him for a few seconds and the sight of his flushed cheeks and unfocused eyes sent another wave of heat through her body, and she moaned in delight. When he finally sent her flying over the precipice, she shrieked and bucked against him madly. She heard him chuckle, but she wanted him satisfied too. Anxious he not stop, she ignored the pain in her swollen sex and continued with their rhythm.

She found his lips again and explored his mouth with her tongue, savouring the taste of him. She bit his lip ever so gently, and feeling him shiver, she did it again, a bit more firmly this time. He groaned, and she continued to nip at him teasingly. She brushed her breasts lightly against his chest, back and forth. He arched his body, wanting desperately to feel their full weight and heat against him, but she continued only with the tantalising brushing. He growled, clearly frustrated and she ceased her kissing and moved where she could press her breasts to his face instead. He growled appreciatively this time and took one of her breasts gently into his mouth and within a few minutes, the feel of her nipple hardening with the antics of his tongue had flared his arousal still further.

He was turning her on again, and the sensation was so euphoric she felt tears pricking her eyes. She exalted that she was bringing pleasure to this beautiful man she was lucky enough to call her husband. And that he could do the same, so very easily, for her. Without warning, he pulled her tightly against his chest and groaned into her hair. And then it was she who was crying out, thrilled beyond belief, as she felt him pulse and jerk and spill inside her.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Mary returned the telephone receiver to its cradle. She smiled to herself, pleased with the news just relayed. As she turned to go back to the library, the view out the window caught her attention and her smile widened. Late rays of sun were breaking through the clouds creating a candyfloss sky: unexpected at the end of a grey drizzly day. _How apt,_ she thought. _How utterly perfect for this particular moment!_ A jubilant Sarah-Jane had called to announce she and Evelyn were to marry this coming Thursday, and could all the Crawley's that could, please be there.

"I have some good news!" she said coming back into the room where she, Matthew and her father had been discussing options for the loss-making farms. "We now have a third wedding to attend this month!"

"Evelyn?" Matthew's face broke into a delighted grin.

"Thursday. Three days away! His doctor has finally agreed he's well enough to manage the ceremony!" Mary's tone was triumphant as she resumed her seat at the table upon which a series of property maps were laid out. "It will be held at the infirmary chapel."

"Wonderful, just marvellous he is getting stronger," Robert said fervently. "But a hospital wedding? Wouldn't they be better to wait until he's home again?"

"They are done waiting. Tried that before and he got ill again," Matthew said quietly. "Love comes first this time."

Robert's head jerked up. "Oh," he said, a little nonplussed. "Well, of course," his voice trailed off as he remembered just how close Evelyn had come to not recovering from his most recent setback.

"It's a shame it is this Thursday however," he frowned suddenly. "Cora and I won't be able to attend." Mary looked at him questioningly, and he answered her looking a little embarrassed. "A creditors meeting in London about the Canadian railway bankruptcy," he said tightly.

Mary and Matthew glanced at each other, and Mary deliberately chose not to enquire any further after the meeting, knowing the financial loss remained a sensitive topic.

"We will be there to represent the family, Papa," Mary said, quickly. "Sarah-Jane told me they didn't expect many people to make it at such short notice. She was more concerned that you all knew you had been invited!"

"Well, she's a lovely girl, I'll say that for her. Cora and I are very pleased to see her and Evelyn together," Robert replied.

"It's morning I take it?" Matthew asked.

"Yes. Ten o'clock. It won't be a long service. They will have a brief toast to follow as a full reception is obviously out of the question."

"I'll need to get my morning suit seen to," Matthew frowned. "I haven't worn it since… well, since before…" his voice trailed off. "Remind me to talk to Barrow will you?"

"Of course," Mary replied, reaching automatically for his hand. She knew that tone. 'Before' was a time Matthew preferred not to think about. Before the war. Before his injury. Too many reminders of what, and who, he had lost. She sighed, and her eyes fell back on the property maps and financial statements spread about the table.

"I hate to return us to a more serious topic," she said reluctantly, "but we do need to make some decisions on which of these options to follow up." Much as she wanted to talk more of Evelyn, she didn't want to cut short this rare opportunity to talk estate matters to her father and Matthew at the same time.

"Very well," Robert said. "Those figures you had on the Hinton's tenancy? What was the sum in arrears again?" and Mary focused back on the papers in front of her to locate them.

0-0-0-0-0-0

"Barrow, could you look out my morning suit please?" Matthew asked as his valet put in his cufflinks, readying him for work. "It needs to be checked, and I expect it will also need to be altered if I am to wear it to Evelyn's wedding."

"Of course," Barrow replied. "And what about a tie, sir? Has Lady Mary organised her outfit? Am I correct that she will be expecting you to match?"

Matthew gave a snort. "I have no idea of her outfit. But you are right. Lady Mary, veritable queen of style that she is, will expect that her husband match. Can I leave that to you to find out, Barrow? And if it requires something new, then surprise me."

"Of course, Sir," Barrow answered, his lips twitching, and he left the room to go in search of the needed suit.

"Morning Sirs!" Charlie Connell said cheerily when Matthew and Barrow entered _Moore's Fine Tailoring_ in Ripon shortly after half past eight. "What brings you here so bright and early?"

"Evelyn's wedding, Mr Connell. Two days away, in fact," Matthew replied. "Can you manage some urgent alterations?"

Anything for you Sir!" Charlie said immediately. "And excellent news about Lieutenant Napier. He hasn't had an easy time of it, has he?"

"He hasn't, that's for sure," Matthew said feelingly. "So we're all thrilled he is finally well enough for a ceremony."

"Please offer him my warmest congratulations," Charlie said. "I do miss him at the meetings and look forward to having him back." He paused and looked at Matthew, noticing his tweed suit. "You're out of uniform I see. Got your papers?"

"I have. So it's plain old Mr Crawley again," Matthew said with a wry smile.

"Well, Sir. Not so sure about the 'plain' or the 'old' to be honest," Charlie quipped, his quick wit causing Barrow to give an involuntary snigger. "But Mr Crawley it shall be! And this here is…?" he asked turning to Barrow expectantly.

"Mr Barrow. My valet. Also my driver and otherwise right-hand man," Matthew grinned. "Barrow, this is Mr Connell. He's on the Returned Soldier's Association committee with Evelyn and me."

"A pleasure to meet you, Mr Connell," Barrow said extending his hand.

"And you Mr Barrow," Charlie replied cheerfully. He picked up his crutch and led them toward the back of the shop. In between the fitting and measuring, he shared some local news, which, as it turned out, was of interest not just to Matthew but Barrow as well.

"Did you hear that Frank Clark is back from a month at St Dunstan's?" Charlie remarked. "Found it very useful. He's able to do more than just the switchboard now at the post office."

"Was the focus just job training when he was there?" Matthew asked. Charlie shook his head. "Oh no. He said it was a whole lot of useful stuff for at home, as well as when he gets out and about. And he is learning to read Braille. Got a Braille typewriter for his work too," Charlie sounded impressed.

"Is this the Frank Clark who is a telegraph operator?" Barrow asked, his ears having pricked up at the mention of St Dunstan's.

Charlie nodded. "It is. Do you know him?"

Barrow shook his head. "Not personally. But a former convalescent home patient I've kept contact with is blind. Having a bit of a difficult time. I've mentioned St Dunstan's to him before but…" Barrow paused. "This Mr Clark." What do you think? Would he mind if I asked whether he'd be prepared to talk to my fr... former patient?" Barrow said cautiously.

"Can't see why not!" Charlie commented. "What do you think Mr Crawley?"

"I imagine Frank would be happy to, Barrow. It's certainly worth asking him," Matthew replied, wondering why he hadn't though to suggest such an approach to Barrow before. He sighed. Yet another example of where the distraction that was Carlisle was keeping him from applying his focus to far more worthy matters.

They were about to go when Charlie said hesitantly, "Sir, there's something else I wanted to discuss with you," his expression became serious. "Should I…?" he flicked his eyes sideways at Barrow.

Instinct told Matthew this might be to do with Carlisle's muckraking, but in case it was a personal matter, he turned to Barrow and said, "Barrow, could you give us a minute?"

"Of course, Sir," Barrow said immediately. Looking around, he headed for the necktie display on the opposite wall. Charlie located his stool and pulled it close to Matthew. He sat down with a grunt and began to talk, his voice just above a whisper. He explained that there had been a man in and out of the Grantham Arms more than once now, asking strange questions about Lord Grantham. Suggesting there had been an affair: that the woman in question had now disappeared, and did anyone know anything? One of his other mates had been asked the same questions when drinking at the Dog and Duck. And Tim Bennett had also been approached at the garage in Ripon: some suggestion that Lady Sybil had been caught with Robert's chauffeur, and what else did Mr Bennett know about Mr Branson?

Matthew listened in silence, asking the occasional terse question, jotting down the details in his notebook, which he had taken out as soon as Charlie's subject became clear.

"I just want you to know Sir," Charlie said finally, "that even though this chap was offering money for information, the lads I know who have been approached, haven't said anything," he hesitated slightly, "even if we have… heard things" he finished awkwardly. "We've tried to put the fellow off. We've all been a bit cross, to be honest. I mean, with what you have been doing. And Lady Sybil's nursing! And Lord Grantham paying for the lunches, even now when the war is over!" he frowned and shook his head.

"Do you know of any others he has approached?" Matthew asked. "Others who might be… less enamoured with the Crawley family for instance?"

"Well, I know Mrs Drake got approached, and she is always a bit sour about people from the big house," Charlie's face reddened. Matthew kept his expression deliberately neutral, so Charlie continued. "I saw him corner her and another lady in the pub. Don't know what he asked, but I don't think he got very far because she looked very cross and he left straight afterwards."

Matthew quickly checked his pocket watch. It was almost nine o'clock and he needed to get to work. He rubbed his chin and surveyed Charlie for a minute, thinking. Finally, he said, "Mr Connell. I am disturbed by what you have told me. But very glad that you have done so! Could I ask that if you hear or see any more that you let me know? There is someone out there causing trouble for Lord Grantham. This same person is causing trouble for others too, as he is facing criminal charges and he wants recrimination against anyone he thinks might have outed him, even if they didn't.

Charlie's eyes widened. "Are you sure we haven't all been dropped into a _Sherlock Holmes_ story, Sir?"

Matthew chuckled, despite himself. "It does have shades of that, doesn't it? I really do appreciate you letting me know. And if you or anyone else can get us a picture of this man on the sly somehow, I'll promise those responsible a meal on me at the pub. All right?"

Charlie grinned. "Sounds worth a stake out! Of course, Sir, I'll certainly let you know if anything else happens." They bade each other good morning, and Matthew and Barrow left quickly for the Harvell and Carter office.

0-0-0-0-0-0

"You had your papers yet?" Matthew asked Evelyn, watching as his friend rubbed pomade into his dark hair and began to comb it neatly back. He had gone to the ward to see him before the ceremony: they had both arrived early as Mary had in her possession one of the musical scores needed by the organist.

"They arrived on Monday. Sarah-Jane got her discharge too! Just in time." Evelyn peered at his reflection in the hand mirror, which was propped against the water jug on his bedside table. "She didn't want me in uniform for our wedding," he explained sensing Matthew's question as to why the timing had mattered.

"Why ever not?" Matthew asked. "You look very smart in your red mess kit. And you can still wear it for a month after discharge."

Evelyn smirked as he continued with his combing. "Apparently not smart enough! She said I would look more handsome in a morning suit. And a grey one to be precise! At least that's what she told me."

"You know, I think it's because she wanted you and her to match," Matthew chuckled.

"And how would you know that?" Evelyn asked, putting the comb down and turning his head to look at him.

"I overheard her and Mary having a conversation," Matthew admitted. "So I've an inkling what she will be wearing!"

"Well don't tell me, it's supposed to be bad luck isn't it?"

"Only if you're American. But just in case, I won't say anymore," and Matthew flashed him a conspiratorial smile.

Evelyn chuckled and set about checking his collar and tie. "Is it straight?" he asked Matthew a little worriedly. "Never sure I can trust these nurses the way I would trust a valet."

Matthew looked critically at the stylish silver grey ascot cravat his friend was wearing. "Not too bad. Ever so slightly askew: Would you like me to fix it?"

"Please," Evelyn replied, lifting his chin up and Matthew reached across and quickly adjusted it. Charles arrived a few minutes later, dressed in a suit to match Evelyns. He was carrying a dainty _boutonniere_ of lemon and cream coloured rosebuds and a spray of soft fern.

"Morning fellows!" he said cheerily. "The guests are arriving! And I have been instructed to fix this to your jacket, Evelyn. And then you will be ready." He held out his palm, and Evelyn took the tiny posy and held it up to his face. He sniffed it, enjoying the delicate scent. "How lovely," he murmured. "I didn't think a wedding organised at this speed might stretch to flowers!" He passed it carefully back to Charles.

"That's where mothers come in handy," Charles quipped, as he pinned it securely to the lapel of Evelyn's morning coat. "And between your mother and Sarah-Jane's, they have made sure there are plenty of enchanting arrangements in the chapel too."

Charles stepped back and admired his handiwork. He turned to Matthew. "What do you think, Crawley? Is he fit for the blushing bride?"

"He most certainly is. In fact, you both look smashing," Matthew said grinning. "Have you got the ring?"

Charles patted his jacket with a knowing look. "I have. And it is time we went through." He clapped Evelyn on the shoulder "How about it, old chap. Are you ready?"

"I am," Evelyn said softly. "More than you could ever imagine," and he winked at Matthew as Charles took the handles of the wheelchair and turned it ready to leave the ward.

"Congratulations Lieutenant!" the wisp of a lad in the bed adjacent to Evelyn's called out. Evelyn flashed him a grin, and as Charles wheeled him out, there were many more calls of congratulations and best wishes from fellow patients all the way down the long ward.

It was a small but joyful crowd that had assembled in the hospital chapel for Evelyn and Sarah-Jane's wedding. The simple room was graced with large vases of cream and yellow roses the showy blooms accentuated by tastefully arranged branches of laurel and trails of ivy.

"Evelyn's mother has outdone herself," Mary whispered to Matthew, inhaling the delightful scent filling the air. "These arrangements are all her work."

"With flowers from Sarah-Jane's family garden!" Matthew said admiringly, pleased for Evelyn's sake that their beauty and fragrance made it feel as though they were in a real church.

The first strains of the organ began, and they all turned to watch as Sarah-Jane walked slowly down the aisle on her father's arm. She wore a flowing white silk gown nicely set off by a fine lace shawl sparkling with tiny silver sequins. Her smile widened when she caught Evelyn's eye, and their delight in each other, and their elation at finally being able to wed was unmistakable.

Mary reached for Matthew's hand, a lump in her throat. Matthew held it tightly and stealing a look at her husband, Mary could tell that he, too, was a little emotional. The ceremony was simple yet moving, and there was much laughter when, after the Chaplain had announced _"you may kiss the bride,"_ the newlyweds began to kiss with more than a little passion and didn't stop for quite some time.

Following the service, they gathered in the foyer for glasses of champagne and slices of wedding cake. Charles called everybody to attention to propose a toast. He cleared his throat and began. "My mother had a favourite proverb: _However long the night, the dawn will break._ And thank heavens it finally has," he said a slight catch in his voice. "Evelyn my dear fellow, I can't tell you how happy we all are that you are finally recovering – and married!" There were claps and loud cheers, and then Charles continued, traversing the familiar territory that a best man must: the thanking; the messages and telegrams of which there were quite a few; some witty accounts of exploits from Evelyn's youth; and the story of how Sarah-Jane and Evelyn had met.

In drawing his oration to a close, Charles said, "There are many heroes in life: sung and unsung. And in Evelyn and Sarah-Jane we have a couple that personifies unsung heroism. It gives me great pleasure to use the occasion of their wedding to put this to rights: to sing their praises, just a little, in recognition of the contributions they have made, and continue to make, to so many others.

"Evelyn, you are a man who has never sought the limelight yet almost your entire adult life has been spent working in a most dedicated fashion in the service of others, first in the government and then the Army. And what you have achieved this past year in lobbying for the plight of wounded servicemen, as well as helping local men in North Riding, all whilst facing your own personal adversity is quite simply extraordinary." Charles paused to smile warmly at his friend, and there were more claps and cheers.

"And Sarah-Jane, what can I say? A woman after Evelyn's own heart! You were one of the very first English VAD's. You served two years in French field hospitals working in very difficult conditions, and when you returned, you continued your nursing, first here in York, and finally at Downton. Without a doubt a hero to every serviceman you cared for." Charles paused as the small foyer reverberated again with plaudits and hurrahs. He raised his hand for silence.

"And now, it brings me great pleasure indeed to propose a toast to you, Sarah-Jane and Evelyn, on the joyous occasion of your marriage." Charles raised his glass. "To the bride and groom!"

"The bride and groom!" came the echo, the glasses held high. There was a brief silence as people drank to the newlyweds, and then the talking and laughter gradually resumed.

Matthew was delighted to find that Edward had been able to make it up to the wedding. They finally managed some time to talk together as the last of the guests departed, and Sarah-Jane and Lady Branksome had gone with Evelyn back to the ward.

"How did you get away at such short notice?" Matthew grinned at his friend.

"By chance, I had a client meeting here in York scheduled for tomorrow, and when I explained the situation, the boss agreed I could come up a day early and finish the preparation from here," Edward explained. He looked at Matthew appraisingly. "And Matthew, you're probably sick of people saying this, but you're looking marvellous! Something to do with being married to that fantastic lady of yours perhaps?" Edward teased, and he laughed as Matthew blushed.

"What about you, Donovan?" Matthew shot back smiling. "Any special lady we should be hearing about?"

Edward sighed. "No such luck. There's a few at the office keen on me, but… oh, I don't know, Matthew. I need a girl with a bit of spark and fire. Like you have in your Mary, and Alex has in Clarissa. I haven't found that girl yet."

They caught up on their other news then, of which there was a lot, and eventually the conversation turned to Carlisle and the defamation suit that Edward had filed on Matthew's behalf in the week prior. "You're coming out of this very well, very well indeed," Edward commented. "The influential papers have put your side most persuasively, and even the junk newspapers are supporting you."

"Well that's something," Matthew sighed. "I haven't found it the easiest thing to have to do! Trying to talk to journalists without being tripped up! Thank the Lord I've had Tom to give me a hand with it."

"Yes, he's been great, hasn't he?" Edward grinned. "And I can't get over the news he's marrying our darling Sergeant Sybil!"

Matthew chuckled. "It's surprised a lot of people! They make a very good couple. But it took quite a bit of work for Cora and particularly Robert to come to terms with the situation."

"I can only imagine," Edward shook his head. "That's where being middle class like we are, has its advantages." The two of them laughed, but then Edward's face became serious again. "Matthew, getting back to this lawsuit and Carlisle. I'm smelling a rat. It's too simple."

"What do you mean 'too simple'?" Matthew asked intently.

"Carlisle setting up that dimwit Trent fellow to wave all that rubbish around about you and Luxmore. Of course, it would get discredited. Of course, the defamation suit will stick. It just doesn't fit with the clever way Carlisle usually operates."

"Eddie. Are you saying that Carlisle did this deliberately?" Matthew said in amazement. "Forced Luxmore to play into it? And hoodwinked Trent the same, despite knowing full well there was little substance to go on?"

Edward nodded. "I am. I'm wondering if Carlisle is actually a player in some other bigger game. Which, for some reason, he wants us to uncover."

Matthew rubbed his forehead. "But why?" he mused, thinking for a minute. "Does it mean he has accepted his fate perhaps? But decided to out some more powerful compatriots in the process?"

"Could be," Edward agreed. He pursed his lips and fixed Matthew with a serious expression. "I guess what you and Charles need to decide now is whether you want to take this further, or whether you let sleeping dogs lie." He frowned slightly. "I have a sense old chap, that if you do decide to keep digging you need to be mighty careful. If a man as powerful as Sir Richard Carlisle is part of something bigger, then who knows whom you might be up against. And more than that, just what is it that they are trying to hide?"


	43. Chapter 43

"You may go in, my Lord," the jailer held the door open for the spry, white-haired gentleman whose sharply tailored suit and gleaming top hat was a startling contrast to the dowdy attire of the vast majority of visitors admitted to Pentonville that morning.

Sir Richard Carlisle's visitors had gained certain notoriety among the prison guards: the procession of High Street lawyers they expected, but it was the odd collection of others that raised eyebrows. There were the shifty-eyed men in cheap suits that they presumed to be private investigators; newspaper editors with bow ties and quirky jackets; the cold-eyed man of a countenance so menacing they would shiver with relief after he left; and finally the sour faced woman they supposed must be his housekeeper who arrived weekly with a large basket of food. Never once had they seen her speak a word to him. Nor ever look him in the eye. But at exactly nine o'clock each Friday morning she placed a full basket of food on the table, uplifted the empty one, and left as abruptly as she had come.

All this ran through the jailer's mind as he observed the man looking around the sparsely furnished visitor's room with obvious distaste before taking his seat. He wondered what he was doing there, but he also knew it unlikely he would ever find out: Just as Sir Richard had perfected the art of speaking in code to his regular visitors, so too had he arranged things so that it was a rare guard that dared antagonise him. Early on they had learned that to stand at attention on the opposite side of the visitor's room from Sir Richard would earn them a coin or two, perhaps a chocolate, or a packet of cigarettes. But come too close, or show too much interest, and they would find themselves hauled to the Superintendent's office to face the music for some inexplicable breach of prison protocol. The man clearly had tentacles everywhere.

"Sir Richard," the Marquess addressed him, unsmiling.

"Lord Doncourt," Richard nodded curtly. "For what do I owe the honour?"

Lord Doncourt didn't answer. Instead, he fixed the man with a hard stare. Richard gazed back, unblinking.

"You're sailing very close to the wind," Lord Doncourt said at last. "It's been noticed."

"I can't possibly think what you might mean," Richard replied coolly. "I'm more than keeping my side of the bargain. And I must remind you it was your hired thug who has taken us too close to the edge more than once now!"

Lord Doncourt looked around the room again. When finally, he turned back to Richard, he said, almost conversationally, "I met Lord Grantham's heir last week."

Richard's stomach lurched.

"Arrogant little prig, if I've ever seen one," the Marquess huffed. "Had the cheek to subject me to some longwinded moralistic lecture on duty and honour and service," he rolled his eyes.

"That sounds like Crawley," Richard muttered without thinking, and then he wished he had bitten his tongue as his visitor's head jerked up and surveyed him intently across the table.

"It does, does it?" the Marquess's voice became unmistakably cooler. "Not the simpleton you led us to believe? Not a man to collude quite so easily with Luxmore then?" His lip curled. "You're not playing us are you Richard?" he said his tone positively icy now. "Because if you are, you know who will come off second best."

0-0-0-0-0-0

Joy, relief, elation, uncertainty… quite what it was Mary didn't know, but she and Sarah-Jane were both tearful when they farewelled each other at the hospital entrance after the wedding. Sniffing a little, Mary made her way across to the car where Matthew and Barrow were already waiting.

It had been a charmed and auspicious occasion for Sarah-Jane, who had got to marry her childhood crush, and for Evelyn, the quiet, dark-haired boy Mary had known all her life, and who had always been such a loyal friend. The boy who was now a man: a man who had served in a brutal war and suffered horribly as a result.

And whilst the war was now over, his battle wasn't. Sarah-Jane had explained he had more operations to come. Skin grafts apparently, the latest life-threatening infection having left his leg a mess. More risk. More pain. More months before they could be properly husband and wife and back at home. _Why does this happen?_ Mary wondered. _Why is it always those who least deserve it who must endure the most suffering?_

When she reached the car, she paused and turned away, to quickly dab her eyes, not wanting either man to see that she was upset. Turning back, Barrow helped her into the car, and as she settled herself, Matthew flashed her his disarming smile and reached automatically for her hand.

Hands. Her breath caught in her throat. She recalled Evelyn and Sarah-Jane's hands as they cut the wedding cake a few hours earlier. His hand had been over hers on the knife, both of them laughing, her other arm firmly around his thin shoulders.

In that moment Evelyn had reminded her so much of Matthew early in his convalescence: tenuously alive, so alarmingly frail she had oft awoken from a bizarre and troubling dream in which he had been returned to the front in his weakened state and left propped up at the top of the fire step to face the German guns, she and Isobel running frantically from officer to officer trying to convince them there was a mistake.

And back then it had been Evelyn who had appeared strong, appeared sure to recover quickly. But look how little it took to herald a change in fortune! Tears pricked her eyes again, and she clasped Matthew's hand tightly, suddenly afraid.

Oblivious to her fears and discomposure, Matthew returned his wife's squeeze, as he gazed out the window and brooded on Edward's words as the motor left York. Had Carlisle really spread the false rumours about him and Luxmore for no reason other than to lead them to his very own shareholders? The same men who were supporting his battle to avoid conviction? And why, therefore, was he continuing with his incessant efforts to uncover every possible bit of dirt that he could on the rest of the Crawley family?

And what about the others that Charles and his private investigators had found Carlisle had it in for? None of it added up. _"I'm wondering if Carlisle is actually a player in some other bigger game"_ Edward had said. The car wobbled suddenly, on a bumpy section of road, and Matthew reached for the armrest to steady himself.

One personality trait of Carlisle's that had always puzzled him was how the man courted yet singularly detested the nobility. Was it possible Carlisle wasn't a willing player? Would that make more sense? Perhaps. But it was hard to believe. Carlisle was smart. Ruthless. Few would be capable of staying ahead of him. Matthew sighed in frustration. His head was beginning to pound. At that moment the car flew over a particularly large bump and both he and Mary grabbed the seat in front in an attempt to hold firm.

Mary rolled her eyes. "This road is terrible!" she complained.

"It is" Matthew replied wincing as a knife of pain shot up his back. Damn it. He was going to be a wreck by the time they got home.

"I wonder if it was that heavy rain last week. I don't recall it being this bad last time we went up to York," Mary continued, rearranging herself back on the seat.

Matthew said nothing. He rubbed his back and continued to brood on Carlisle. They didn't know who had paid him. They had assumed it had been Germany. It was the one part of the puzzle no one, not even the intelligence service, he was pretty sure, could answer. But what if it wasn't? Who else might have seen fit to pay him? It had to have been someone who had stood to profit from the continuation of the war.

He recalled his troubling conversation with Lord Doncourt. He inhaled sharply. It couldn't be him, surely? No. That would be too strange, too coincidental. Someone like him, perhaps? He turned to Mary to ask what she knew of the man, but at that very moment, Barrow shouted in alarm. Mary gave a horrified scream, and the car lurched violently, throwing her and Matthew forcibly across the back seat.

Barrow climbed shakily out of the motor, swearing under his breath.

The ashen-faced lorry driver had gotten out of the cab and was standing to stare in shock at their vehicle, which had spun a full 180 degrees. "I'm sorry man, so terribly sorry," he stuttered.

"You didn't look!" Barrow paced, shouting and gesticulating. "You could have had us all killed!" He gasped, his own words reminding him he had passengers, and he ran around the car and threw open the rear door.

"What the devil…" Matthew began as he saw him. He was struggling to right himself, and there was a trickle of blood running down the side of his face.

To his chagrin, Barrow saw that he was in pain. He scrambled quickly across the seat and helped him upright as carefully as he could. He pulled out a handkerchief and folding it, he placed it to the cut on Matthew's head. "Here, Sir. Hold this to stem the bleeding."

Mary had been thrown into the foot well. She was crouched in a ball nursing her left arm.

"Lady Mary," Barrow fought to keep his voice calm. "Are you all right?"

"My wrist," Mary said numbly. "I think I hurt my wrist."

"Here. Let me help you up," Barrow said, and he grasped Mary under her shoulders and assisted her back onto the seat. He began to gently examine the wrist, which was discoloured and starting to swell. But it didn't have the look or feel of a fracture. "If I'm right it's just a sprain, my Lady," he announced. "But we must get to the Doctor to see about it in any case." He turned to look at them both, his face anguished. "I'm so very sorry Lady Mary, Mr Crawley," he stammered. "The lorry… it came from nowhere!"

They looked outside, and the seriousness of their near miss was immediately apparent: the heavily laden lorry was only a few feet from their car.

"Oh, my goodness!" Mary breathed, horrified. The lorry driver came into view, and they could hear him muttering expletives at himself as he methodically checked their vehicle's wheels for damage following the violent swerve.

The colour drained from Matthew's face. "Bloody hell. Thank God for what you did! We could have been toast." Quite how Barrow had avoided rolling the car he had no idea. It had been a narrow escape indeed. He realised then that he was shaking, and that this head, in fact, his whole left side was hurting from where he had hit the door. A wave of nausea hit him. He tried to say something but his mouth wouldn't form the words. And then everything went black.

She stayed calm: Unnaturally so, for most of the afternoon. Calm when Dr Clarkson bandaged her wrist, which he confirmed was indeed sprained. Calm for Barrow, who needed reassuring, yet again, that it wasn't his fault, so upset he was that they had both been hurt. And calm for her father, who was beside himself when he got to the hospital. But when Isobel finally arrived at around five o'clock, having been out visiting earlier when it had all happened, she burst into tears. After talking briefly to her son to reassure her good self that the cuts and bruises he had sustained were indeed only minor, Isobel guided her daughter-in-law to the privacy of Dr Clarkson's office and sat her down.

"It was awful," Mary sobbed. "When Matthew fainted I thought he was dead!"

Isobel clasped Mary's uninjured hand between hers. "There, there, my dear," she said gently. "It was the shock that caused him to faint. And he is going to be fine, just like you will be in no time at all!" Isobel's calm words belied her own horror at what had occurred: it really had been a very close call from what Barrow, himself still visibly shaken, had described. _Thank goodness for his quick actions,_ she thought.

But Mary continued to cry and Isobel realised there was something else behind her tears. She sat patiently, making the occasional placating noise until her daughter-in-law was calm.

"My dear," she asked eventually. "What else has upset you so?"

It was a while before Mary spoke. "It was the wedding," she finally whispered. She related how being there, seeing Evelyn and Sarah-Jane together had reminded her how tenuous their lives were. How knowing Evelyn still had so far to go made her fear for Matthew all over again. And then the car had almost hit the lorry. "It was a nightmare," she choked. "Just when I was so worried! I couldn't live without him, Isobel. I really couldn't. I would rather die than be without him!" She began to cry again.

"Oh my dear girl," Isobel said taking her hand once more. "But the worst didn't happen did it?" she soothed. "And Barrow says the mechanic has told him even the car is intact!" she gave a slight chuckle.

"Mmm," Mary attempted a smile, but her tears continued, and it was a long time before she would let Isobel go.

By six o'clock Dr Clarkson had satisfied himself that Matthew had not sustained a concussion and sent them home. They were quiet in bed that night. Desperately tired, but sleep wouldn't come. They were both still rattled, and the aches and pains in their bodies seemed amplified by the night. They lay side by side, their hands intertwined, needing to be close.

"I'm so sorry," Matthew said.

Mary turned her head toward him, confused. "My darling. Why are you sorry? It wasn't your fault what happened!"

"But I passed out. I frightened you," he said, his voice almost inaudible.

Mary frowned. "You were hurt! You had hit your head!" she turned a little gingerly onto her side so that she could see him properly. "And it had jarred your back. You've nothing to apologise for," she finished earnestly.

"You were crying at the hospital," he continued. "And I know it was more than just the shock. Mary, I don't like upsetting you! I don't want you to worry for me like you do!" His blue eyes flashed and Mary saw the pain in them. She gulped, annoyed at herself for being tearful in front of him. She had a mad urge to lie and brush him off, but she knew it was futile: her ability to lie to Matthew had disappeared the day she had confessed to him about Kamal Pamuk.

"I do worry," she admitted, unconsciously stroking his hand. "And watching Evelyn and Sarah-Jane today reminded me again how… how we almost lost you," she swallowed. "I mean, here you are so very well! But it doesn't take much does it, to herald a change in fortune. Look at Evelyn for god's sake! And then in the car when you fainted…" her voice broke and she trembled.

He gazed back at her, his jaw working. She had a right to worry, he realised. He didn't like it, but he had to accept it. His condition did put him at risk. Risk that lessened every day, the more he recovered, but still there, nonetheless. And goddamn it, if it had been her he had almost lost … well. He couldn't honestly say that he wouldn't continue to worry either. He sighed and pulled her close against him, nuzzling her dark hair gently with his chin.

"Speaking of dear Evelyn," he began, "He said something to me after the service. About this very thing, do you know! I was grumbling, I can't even remember what about, and getting pre-occupied," Matthew rolled his eyes and smiled slightly. "And he just looked at me. His thoughtful look. And he said, _"Matthew my dear chap: let it all go. And focus on what you have got! We must cherish every day. Every moment, in fact, you and I! We must never take anything for granted."_ Matthew paused, continuing to nuzzle Mary's hair. "And he's right of course. So very right."

"Us, Matthew!" Mary propped herself up and gazed at him beseechingly. "We must never take "us" for granted. Who knows what's coming?" she choked.

"No," he said, his voice a little tight. "We don't know what's coming. But there is one thing you can take for granted my darling," he gently brushed a dark tendril of hair back from her face. "And that is I will love you and cherish you absolutely until the last breath leaves my body."

"Oh, my darling! Me too," Mary's voice caught, "Me too."

0-0-0-0-0-0

In the days after their near miss, Matthew did a lot of thinking. Front of mind was about Mary. Was he making enough time for her, time for them? Their lives were so full, and some of what was happening so vexing, it was too easy for long periods to go by where they passed like ships in the night. And Mary's supreme self-assurance, endearing as it was to him, now gave him cause to doubt: what if he was neglecting her? Could he trust her to say?

He thought uncomfortably of his tendency to lose himself in his legal work, or, he hated to admit it, the continuing unsettling developments with Sir Richard Carlisle. And more than all of that was his rehabilitation. Not only the sheer physical effort it demanded, but also the uncertainty of it all, uncertainty, which in recent weeks, had grown as the steady progress he had been making, had slowed almost to a stop. It had fuelled in him an anxiety he could never quite escape.

Evelyn's words came to him then, and he almost laughed. He was doing exactly what Evelyn had counselled him against. Thinking too much. Worrying. _"Matthew my dear chap: let it all go. And focus on what you have got!"_ He took a deep breath and made himself look around their comfortable sitting room. The photograph of himself and Mary on their wedding day caught his eye. He gazed at it for a long time. And it came to him finally what he must do.

When the following Saturday dawned fine and still, Matthew took the opportunity to put his resolve into action.

Arriving home just after midday and more than a little tired and hungry, Mary was a little put out to find her husband was nowhere to be seen. She rang the bell for Anna. "M'Lady," she said with an enigmatic smile. "Are you looking for Mr Crawley?"

"I am, as a matter of fact!" Mary frowned. "Do you know where he is?"

"I do. I'll take you to him. But you will want to change into outdoor clothing first. He has a surprise for you!"

Mystified, Mary's irritation gave way to a childish sense of excitement. _I wonder what he's up to?_ she mused, and she followed Anna to the dressing room to begin changing her clothes. A short time later, she found herself being led across the paddocks to the path up to the hillside above the lake, where they had so enjoyed their pre-wedding celebration with Alex and Clarissa.

"Aha!" she said triumphantly to Anna. "It's a picnic, isn't it? And all the way up here!"

"It is indeed," Anna remarked. "An overdue treat for you both. For a lady and a gentleman, you both do far too much!"

Arriving at the clearing a few minutes later, they found Matthew and Alfred busy laying out the picnic.

"Mary!" Matthew looked up at her with a delightfully silly grin.

"I am to be spoiled rotten I see," she smiled, surveying the spread before her: Devilled eggs, individually baked pork pies, potato salad and peas.

"It's new potatoes, and the first of the peas," Alfred explained seeing her appraising the dishes. "And Mrs Patmore's homemade peach chutney for the pie."

"It looks magnificent," Mary said

"And have a peek in the basket," Matthew added. "Strawberries and raspberries, with clotted cream for dessert."

"Berries this early?" Mary exclaimed lifting the lid. "Oh, and Daisy's meringues!" She looked at Matthew feeling very pleased indeed. "My darling. How did you know to choose all this? All my favourites?"

"Now, that would be telling," Matthew tapped the side of his nose. "All you need know is that I have friends in all the right places."

"Daisy and Mrs Patmore," Mary smirked.

"Perhaps," Matthew grinned. "And I must say it was a surprise to me when they told me how partial you are to pork pie."

"One of my better-kept secrets," Mary raised her eyebrows. "Ladies are supposed to favour more dainty foods. But I don't. Nothing beats Mrs Patmore's pork pie!"

When the last of the dishes were laid out, Anna and Alfred left them, Alfred promising to return in two hours to assist them back.

With a contented sigh, Mary sat down on the rug beside Matthew and gave her husband an impromptu kiss. "Thank you so much for this. It has cheered me, no end!"

"I thought we deserved it," Matthew replied. "And you in particular," he said glancing at her still-bandaged wrist.

"Did you get done what you had to?" he continued, reaching for the wine bottle and the corkscrew.

"I did. And I picked up something from the office on the way home that I wanted to show you," she said reaching inside the small satchel she had brought and removing a sheaf of paper. "I think I might have found us a house!"

As Matthew poured the wine, she explained that they had had a letter that week, advising that the Harcourt family who had been long-standing tenants of the former vicarage were vacating the property to move to Thirsk to be closer to Mrs Harcourt's elderly mother.

"That's the Harcourt that owns some of the commercial properties in Ripon, is it?" Matthew enquired, the cork coming out of the bottle with a satisfying 'pop'.

Mary nodded. "It is. But they've always preferred Downton to Ripon as a place to live."

"So where Travers is isn't the vicarage?"

"No. He's in the apartment attached to the church. Traditionally that was where the deacon lived, but it's been a long time since the Estate has appointed both a priest and a deacon," Mary explained. "When Travers wanted a smaller home once all his children had married, Papa had it extended slightly and done up for him."

She paused and looked at Matthew thoughtfully. "You know, I had forgotten all about the vicarage! It has been so long since Travers was there."

Matthew passed her a glass of wine and picked up his own. "To your good health, my darling," he waved his glass at her. "And to us creating a new home!"

"To our good health," Mary corrected smiling and she took a sip. "Mmm. Now that is a good drop indeed!"

_"Montee de Tonnerre, Chablis Premier Cru,"_ Matthew read the label out loud.

"Did you know this was my favourite, or did Carson tell you?" Mary said, touched again by the effort her husband had gone to.

"I knew you liked Chablis. Carson helped me select a suitably good one," Matthew smiled. "Now show me these plans. I'm intrigued by the possibility of this house."

Mary spread out the papers. There was a photograph, showing a gracious two storey Georgian home set in an established garden. "The photograph is a few years old," she remarked. "We will have to visit to get a real sense of its current condition. And here is the plan."

The floor plan showed two wings: four bedrooms in one, and utility rooms, dining, drawing room and library in the other. "There are a further four bedrooms, as well as staff quarters and storage upstairs," Mary explained. "It's not a bad size as is, but to be comfortable we will need to extend the living areas." She pointed out how she thought they could extend the entrance and create a reception room in the middle of the house. Matthew surprised himself by instantly agreeing: he had grown to like the generous spaces at the Abbey, even more so since his injury, and he knew he would struggle in a house with only modest sized living areas.

"And I thought we should include a conservatory also," Mary continued. "Here," she pointed to a spot on the plan, adjacent to the dining room. "It will look over the gardens and catch the morning sun."

"There is one other room we must add," Matthew observed. "And that is a gym."

Mary looked at him thoughtfully. "Yes, we must," she said slowly. "I had forgotten about that." It was a necessity. Whatever recovery he got back would take work to maintain. And the importance of his daily workouts to his state of mind went without saying. All the nurses had seen it: once the trial had started, most of the officers on it who were suffering from shell shock had seen their symptoms ease, in some cases quite markedly, Matthew among them. She looked back at the plans. "Where?" she asked. They tossed around some ideas and finally decided that converting one of the larger ground floor bedrooms would make sense. As Matthew began to fold up the plans so that they could begin their meal, Mary put out her hand to stop him. "I almost forgot! I've still to tell you the very best part about this property," and she pointed to the northern boundary. "See that, my darling? What do you notice?"

Matthew studied the lot number. "That seems very familiar. Oh my goodness," his face broke into a smile as he realised why. "Crawley House! Mother will be next door!"

Later, pleasantly replete after the delicious meal, they lay back on the rug in companionable silence. It was a glorious late spring day. The sky was a deep, deep blue, and the air was full of the spicy fragrance of new green leaves. Matthew took Mary's bandaged hand gently in his. "How is it my darling?"

"Still sore, to be honest," she sighed. "Dr Clarkson says it will take another week before it's right. Still, it could have been worse. So I daren't complain."

"You can complain all you like to me," Matthew said matter-of-factly, reaching to brush a tendril of dark hair back from her face.

She turned to give him a sweet smile and settled back again.

"Have you ever looked, like really looked at how blue it is?" Matthew asked, gazing at the patch of bright blue above them.

"The sky? Mary countered. "Not since I was a girl."

"If you keep looking, it changes colour," Matthew observed.

"And it's fathomless," Mary murmured.

"It's hard to imagine, isn't it," Matthew commented. "That the universe goes on and on. When I was a boy I was forever asking Father, _"What is behind the end of the universe?"_

Mary laughed. "What did he say? Papa always told us it was heaven."

"Father just confounded me further with his answers. _"There is just more universe, my boy"_ he would say. "_And beyond that?"_ I would reply, and we would end up in an endlessly circular conversation!"

"It is still difficult to contemplate, even as an adult," Mary observed.

"It is indeed," Matthew sighed. He paused and shot her a slightly suggestive look. "Which is perhaps why it is preferable to focus one's attention on more earthly pleasures," he said, his voice low. "Like the beauty of my wife." He turned his face to her and drank her in, the dark, beautifully shaped eyebrows framing her lovely eyes: her creamy skin and her pretty little mouth. God, she was exquisite. He felt suddenly hot and he automatically reached to loosen his tie.

"Why, Mr Crawley, do I get the distinct sense you desire me?" Mary's tone was sultry.

"Because I do. I am seeing you naked. The sun is kissing your skin, and your delectable mouth is demanding to be kissed." Matthew's voice dropped even lower.

"Well, I must prepare myself to be kissed then. And for what other pleasures my husband might have in mind," and she batted her eyelashes at him.

"You wish your husband to make love to you out of doors?" Matthew gave a little gasp.

"That may well be the case," she turned her head and surveyed him with hooded eyes. "My husband is particularly handsome. He lights fires in my body that are hard to extinguish. Perhaps those fires override any sense of propriety and decorum I might normally hold."

"What a delightful thought," Matthew murmured. He positioned himself on his side and reached for her, his breath quickening. He untucked her blouse and snaked a hand up, pushing aside her brassiere to cup her deliciously soft, warm breast.

"Wait," Mary said quickly. "That's not very comfortable." She sat up. "Undo it for me," she instructed. He sat up too and immediately obliged, and then he pulled her back to him, his arms wrapped around her, hands on her breasts, squeezing them gently. He enjoyed the gasps she made and the moan that escaped her mouth when he began to tease her nipples with his fingers.

He kissed the side of her neck and rubbed his face against her soft skin. She squealed: the slight sandpaper feel of his stubble making her ticklish. He laughed softly, and his hands roamed down her body, her sleekness making him shiver. With one hand, he reached up under her skirt and found her crotch. Her thin silk knickers were wet and he growled with delight. He slid his fingers underneath the material and felt for her sweet spot. She let out a little cry as he began to rub her, gentle at first, and then more firmly.

"Damn it, Matthew," she said unevenly, disconcerted that he was turning her on to this extent out of doors. But truth be told, she didn't care. He'd taken her too far already and waves of euphoria began coursing through her. The sun was hot against her head, and the slight breeze caressed her skin. She smelled blossom and new green leaves. Smelled Matthew's scent: felt his warm, skilful hands working her body, bringing her closer and closer to her peak.

"Hold me tighter," she gasped, and he growled and crushed her back against his body, kissing and nibbling at her neck with renewed fervour. The euphoria increased. "Oh! God Matthew," she bit out the pleasure almost unbearable. That was it. He sent her over the edge. She saw stars. Felt her body shattering and she shrieked and jerked in his arms. He gave a throaty chuckle and kissed her soundly.

And she cried. Matthew froze. "Mary?" he whispered urgently. "Did I hurt you?" he was mortified. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," she was crying and smiling. "It's just… oh God Matthew, I love you. I love you! I love you so damn much that it hurts."

0-0-0-0-0-0

"Matthew," Charles poked his head around the side of the office door. "May I have a word?"

"Of course," Matthew straightened up, and put down his pen.

"My apologies for interrupting like this," Charles began. "I know you've only a few hours before that negotiation."

"Please don't apologise," Matthew gave him a wry smile and stretched his arms and shoulders. "I'm on my third read through of this merger proposal, and a break from the tedium is most welcome indeed."

Charles snorted and sat down opposite him. "Very well. Although I can't promise you will feel quite the same after you hear what I have to say," a shadow crossed his face. "But staying with Moon and Sons for the moment, you do know you're up against Arthur Farnham again, don't you?"

Matthew cocked his eyebrow. "I saw that. Just my luck! The third time in as many months. Surely there are more company law solicitors out there than just us!"

"Not many with the expert knowledge you two men have for mergers of this type," Charles countered, and then he scowled. "We did far too good a job getting the rest of them killed off."

Matthew nodded in acquiescence, experiencing, not for the first time, a strange comfort in his boss's blunt and sometimes bitter remarks about the war's decimation of the British legal profession.

Charles sighed. "I digress. Back to this other thing. Your instinct regarding the Marquess of Doncourt has unfortunately proven correct."

"Unfortunately?" Matthew asked, the odd tone in Charles's voice making him nervous. Charles rubbed his chin. "The Marquess has major shareholdings, quite well disguised I might say, in a number of armaments companies, both American and German."

"Dubious from a moral standpoint, but hardly illegal," Matthew commented. He watched Charles's face carefully.

"Except that one of the companies is currently being investigated in America for corruption," Charles said unexpectedly. "And I sense that what we found in terms of this gentleman's involvement is not widely known. It was almost by accident our investigator came across a link that allowed us to trace the records between the countries!"

Matthew was about to ask a question, but the bothered look on Charles's face silenced him.

"Matthew," he began delicately. "When you asked me to find out about this gentleman, were you aware that his wife is a Rothschild?"

Matthew drew a sharp breath. "No. No, I was not," and he swallowed. "I knew nothing of him beyond his association with Lord Grantham. Of which I understand was primarily through his club." He looked across at the older man, the ramifications of what he had just revealed beginning to sink in. Eddie's words echoed in his head like a bad omen. _"… If you do decide to keep digging you need to be mighty careful. If a man as powerful as Sir Richard Carlisle is part of something bigger, then who knows whom you might be up against."_

"Charles, I…" Matthew started. He felt like a fool. Why the hell, hadn't he checked first? And why hadn't Mary told him? Explaining who was connected to whom was usually the first thing she did. And she had certainly done that for most of the other guests who had been at Edith's wedding. Carlisle was one thing. A man with connections to the Rothschild's was quite another.

Charles lifted a hand to silence him. "Matthew. There is a lot on your plate right now. May I suggest we leave it? And in a few days let's speak again. No doubt by then we will both be of a mind to think more rationally as to what to do next."

0-0-0-0-0-0

"We had a letter from Edith today," Mary said, accepting a pre-dinner cocktail from Carson and taking a seat opposite Matthew on the terrace outside the library.

"How are the both of them?" Matthew asked. He took a sip of his own cocktail. "Mmm. This is rather good I must say!"

"It is, isn't it? A little too good," Mary's lip twitched. "After his initial resistance, Carson has become quite the connoisseur, researching and trialling various different types! What we have is _The Manhattan_ apparently! Anyway, back to Edith, she said they are having a marvellous time. And best of all, Anthony's health is holding up, so they have been able to do a lot more sight-seeing than they had imagined."

"Will he come with her to Sybil's wedding?" Matthew asked.

Mary shook her head. "No. He was a bit odd about it, in the same that Papa is, but he was prepared to attend once Edith said she would go. But they are worried the travel will be too much for him. So he will stay at their villa in France, and she will return there after her trip to the wedding."

"Sounds sensible," Matthew commented. "Especially as they are still away. Best not to risk his health with a long boat trip." They caught up on each other's days, and then Matthew remembered his unsettling conversation with Charles.

"Mary," he hesitated. "I need to ask you something about that awful couple we met at Edith's wedding."

"Lord Doncourt and his supremely rude wife?" Mary's eyes darkened. "Why?"

"Something has come up in connection with my lawsuit," Matthew explained. "What do you know about them?"

"Not much. Papa has a long association with him through Whites. A sharp businessman apparently, which is why Papa liked to court him. But her, I don't know. She's definitely not his first, as she died some years ago."

"Oh. When did he marry this second wife?"

"I've no idea," Mary shook her head. "In fact, I didn't know he had remarried until we were introduced at the wedding. Mama might. She has still made time these past few years to keep up with what's happening in society," Mary sighed. "I, on the other hand, have been focused on far less glamorous pursuits, like medical supplies, nursing, and now reading every bit of information I can lay my hands on about property management and farming!" she rolled her eyes.

Matthew couldn't help chuckling. This Mary, his Mary, was a quite startling contrast to the Mary he had first met in 1912: the haughty young woman unhappily trapped in a life where there was little other than social calls and the gossip columns of society magazines to occupy her every waking moment.

"And where do I fit in all that?" he said in jest. "A less glamorous pursuit?"

"Depends on my mood," she said saucily and she poked her tongue out at him. But then her face softened, and she said, quite unexpectedly, "You have helped me find who I really am. And be happy with that. You can't ever know quite how much that means," and her gaze was so intense and so loving that he felt a lump in his throat. He took her hand and squeezed it between his. After a minute, he said reluctantly, "Let's talk to your parents. So I can ask about that woman."

Robert and Cora, who had been sitting in less than companionable silence, were clearly pleased to be interrupted. Robert stood up and pulled one of the patio chairs back for Mary, and another out of the way for Matthew.

"Mary, my dear," he said, as they joined him and Cora. "Tell us about your day. It is very quiet without you here with us."

"Yes do tell us," Cora chimed in. "About both your days. We get lonely! Edith and Sybil away. No soldiers, no nurses, and the downstairs staff with far more time on their hands…" she shook her head.

They both obliged, filling them in on their news, and when silence descended once again, Matthew cleared his throat and forced himself to ask about Lord Doncourt's wife.

"Cora," he began delicately. "What do you know of Lord Doncourt's new wife?"

"Emmeline?" she frowned. "Well, she is a Rothschild, of course. Very aware of her own privilege. Not always an attractive quality, I might add," she said, her tone slightly disapproving. "Was this about what happened at the wedding?" she looked at Mary.

"Did you hear about that?" Mary was annoyed to feel herself blushing and she braced herself for the remonstration she felt sure was about to come from her mother.

"Rosamund told me," Cora smiled unexpectedly. "I was quite proud when I heard how you told her off!" she huffed. "How dare the woman! Privilege is never an excuse for poor manners," and Mary gave an inward sigh of relief.

"Mama," she asked. "What else can you tell us about her?" and Cora began. Emmeline was the third daughter of Baron Rothschild, now deceased, and it was her second marriage too: her first husband having died of a heart attack in his early forties. Whilst they had been companions for some years, she had married Lord Doncourt only recently. The word being put about was that she was a force to be reckoned with and singularly focused on growing her husband's already considerable wealth, perhaps more than he was.

When Cora had finished her somewhat lengthy explanation, Robert looked at Matthew curiously and said, "Why the interest in these people? I seem to recall you didn't exactly get along with the Marquess at Edith's wedding!" Whilst initially dismayed at Matthew's rudeness to an acquaintance he had long admired for his business acumen, he had been secretly pleased with his son-in-law when he heard what the Marquess had actually said: to have found that the man was so unpatriotic had been a rude shock.

"Well…" Matthew was at a loss at what to divulge. In the end, he decided to say a little, but not all, of what he knew, knowing already that his instruction to Charles later in the week would be to stop and go no further.

"Lord Doncourt is one of Sir Richard Carlisle's shareholders," he explained. "His name came up in association with Viscount Trent, the one you had given us that information about."

"Lord Doncourt along with most of the rest of London society," Robert sighed. "Sir Richard has many shareholders among the nobility."

"It appears so," Matthew agreed, and with his answer having satisfied Robert's curiosity they said no more about it.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Matthew slumped back against the wall and closed his eyes. He was exhausted. It was Saturday morning, and Sybil had just spent the last hour observing Nurse Rose taking him through his exercises.

"You look like you could do with a nice long sleep," Sybil remarked, busily writing the last of her comments onto her clipboard.

"It's been a gruelling week," Matthew replied tiredly. "We have a lot on at work at the moment. And I always find this session the hardest in any case."

"Well, you must get that sleep then," Sybil spoke firmly. "Mary told me about your work. And she is busy too, by the sounds. Finding out just how poorly Jarvis was managing everything. Like you predicted," she added, a touch of irony in her tone.

"I'll say," Matthew scowled. "Managing everything" is a bit of an overstatement where he is concerned, and now my poor wife is paying the price."

"Mmm," Sybil agreed, her pen continuing to scratch the paper.

Matthew paused. "Anyway," he said nervously. "Back to me, and why we are here. What's the verdict?"

Sybil looked at him with a contemplative expression, and then she walked across to where he was and sat down next to him on the gym mat.

"I think," she began slowly. "That we have done the most we can possibly do for you here."

"What do you mean 'here?'" Matthew frowned.

"Here at Downton, with the limits of my knowledge, Nurse Rose's experience, and the equipment that is available," she finished.

"So I'll have to go to Shepherd's Bush?" Matthew looked worried.

"As an outpatient," Sybil said quickly. "But yes, I think you will. As you yourself have surmised, your recovery has hit a plateau. There has been no material improvement the past three weeks, even taking into account the days you lost resting up after the incident with the motor. When is your appointment with Doctor Jones?"

"The week after your wedding," Matthew answered.

"Good. That's not far off," Sybil said. "It will be his view that matters of course, as I can only give you the physical therapy perspective, not any wider medical considerations."

Matthew was frowning again. "I know I said I wouldn't hope but… what if Doctor Jones says this is it? That nothing more can be done?" he looked pained.

"I'm sure he won't," she tried to reassure him. "In the short time I've been at Shepherd's Bush, I've been amazed at the different types of therapies available. And all the different equipment too! It's very exciting what some of the more experienced therapists are doing with their patients," she finished enthusiastically. Matthew's expression told her he remained unconvinced. "Matthew," she said gently. "I know it's hard to imagine when all you have been exposed to is only what you have seen here. But there will, truly, be a lot more you can do. I just know it. So try not to worry." She smiled at him encouragingly, and after a long moment, he managed a small smile in return.

0-0-0-0-0-0

"Mr Farnham," Matthew acknowledged the sharply dressed solicitor with a curt nod.

"Mr Crawley," he replied, his lips curling ever so slightly. _Was that actually a smile?_ Matthew shot him a sideways glance. Hmm. He could never be sure with the man. Mr Farnham had arrived a few minutes late and the three gentlemen from the firm he was representing, Bromley Textiles, were already seated. He quickly took his place alongside them, and the meeting got underway. It was the follow-up to initial negotiation meeting they had held in the week prior. It progressed predictably. He knew now where Mr Farnham was likely to come down hard, and he was ready: and Mr Farnham likewise. Matthew found an odd enjoyment in watching Mr Farnham revel in the game that was law the same as he did: the carefully crafted argument; the ability to read possibility, not constraint from a statute; and knowing when, and exactly what to reveal or not to reveal as a negotiation unfolded.

By the close of the meeting, they had reached an agreement in principle and a date was confirmed for what Matthew hoped would be their final meeting in a fortnight's time.

Matthew sighed to himself as he stacked his papers. He had been hoping to close the deal today, but that had proved impossible. Three additional matters had arisen that would need to be researched and discussed with Moon and Sons, two of which he knew would prove complex. Law wasn't the easiest of careers he reflected. Every word, every phrase on a paper mattered: it took 'attention to detail' to a whole, other level. _Next time round Matthew, choose something easier. Perhaps number crunching,_ he muttered to himself.

He heard the sound of someone clearing the throat and looked up to see Mr Farnham standing next to him.

"Crawley," he began a little awkwardly. "Want to join me for a spot of lunch?"

Matthew swallowed his surprise and checked his pocket watch.

"Why not. My next appointment is not until three. Where would you like to go? There is a tea room across the road and a pub at the corner."

"Think we deserve the pub after that morning," The lips twitched again, and now Matthew was convinced it was some version of a smile. They parted, agreeing to meet in the foyer in fifteen minutes, to allow both of them time to freshen up.

On the way the public house, they exchanged the usual pleasantries, and Matthew took the opportunity to find out a little more about Mr Farnham's law background. "I joined _Thomson Snell and Passmore_ as a clerk straight out of school," Mr Farnham explained. "After a few months, they offered to put me through university."

"They saw your potential," Matthew commented.

"Perhaps," he shrugged unsmilingly. "Or it might have just been luck. Right place at the right time." His humourlessness intrigued Matthew. They progressed in silence, and finally, Matthew asked, "Farnham. Did you serve?"

"Navy. Signals." He paused and then added tightly, "I was on _HMS Britannia_ when she went down."

"But you got off all right?" Matthew frowned.

"I did. I was well away from the magazine that caught. Lady Luck again," he gave a heavy sigh. "Unlike some of the other signallers," and this time Matthew saw his lip quiver. Silence descended again. _Is that why he is so dour. Losing friends, mere days before the end of the war,_ Matthew wondered. They arrived at the pub entrance, and Mr Farnham guided Matthew's chair up and over the threshold. Once inside, they located a quiet table in the corner, and Mr Farnham went up to the bar to order.

He returned and sat down frowning at Matthew. "Right, well. Crawley, uh, you may be wondering why I wanted to catch up," he began formally, to which Matthew immediately nodded. "It's about some work. There is a group of companies, one of whom I act for, who are seeking a solicitor who isn't already conflicted to help them with a merger. It's complex. A whole new organisation needs to be designed, to which all three buy in. They want someone independent to do the design and spearhead the negotiations. I'd like to suggest you, but…" he paused and surveyed Matthew cautiously. "Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?"

"Depends what it is!" Matthew replied, frowning slightly.

"How well are you?" he blurted out.

"Well enough!" Matthew said, taken aback. "Why? Have I given you cause to think I can't do a decent day's work?"

"No, no, it's not that. Not at all," he said hurriedly. "Quite the opposite! Which is why I want to put your name forward." Matthew was still frowning at him. He took a deep breath and started again. "I'm not putting this very well, I'm sorry. Damn it, I'll just say it straight," his brow furrowed. "To bring this merger off will require a lot of work. Months in fact! So whomever the companies agree to have, needs to be up for that. And… well, I've known a few men paralysed through the war. None of them is still alive." He paused and his eyes darkened. "One of them was a little like you, he seemed to be recovering well. Even got back to work. But then he got sick," Mr Farnham swallowed. "He was dead in a week."

"I'm sorry," Matthew said sincerely. S_o that's why the odd question,_ he thought. "I take it he was a friend," he added.

Mr Farnham nodded. "He was. Since school."

Matthew thought for a moment. Then he leaned forward and put his elbows on the table. "Mr Farnham. I'm not going to lie and tell you I'm not at any risk. But what I can say is that I'm in the rare category of those with spinal injuries who do see recovery and not early death. Any days I've had off lately have been to do with rehabilitation, not illness."

"Rehabilitation?" Mr Farnham looked at him questioningly.

"Getting out of this damn chair," Matthew rolled his eyes. "There is a chance I might."

"So you're not paralysed?" he looked at Matthew, his face a slightly comical mix of relief and confusion.

"Yes and no. The medical term is an incomplete injury," Matthew explained. "And in my particular case, that means there is a prospect of further recovery."

"Oh," Mr Farnham's enthusiasm appeared to have returned. "Well, this is good. Very good."

Matthew raised his eyebrows. "Hold on just a minute, Mr Farnham. Let's not jump too far ahead here! Would you care to tell me a little more about what you are proposing," and the other man leaned forward and began an earnest explanation of who and what was involved. Later, as they finished their meals, Matthew realised the one question he hadn't yet asked. "Farnham," he said. "If my firm agreed, and the companies likewise, where would the work need to be based?"

"London," Mr Farnham replied. "It would need to be London."

0-0-0-0-0-0

"So you would put both of us forward," Alex remarked, fiddling with the stem of his wine glass. He had come up to York for the night, having had a call from Matthew earlier that day saying he had some urgent business to discuss.

"I would," Matthew replied, leaning back on the sofa. "It's a huge piece of work. And a lot of it is about designing the structure of the new entity. That's the stuff you're good at."

Alex nodded. "It is. It's also the most exciting part in my view."

"So you're keen?" Matthew said, pleased.

"I am. On the condition, you front," Alex's eyes clouded momentarily.

"Of course. That's what I see is the most exciting part," Matthew quipped, concerned to keep Alex's spirits up. "Having to use my less than perfect diplomatic skills to negotiate with three separate entities all of whom will be fighting tooth and nail for the best possible result for themselves!"

Alex took the hint and grinned. "Diplomacy isn't always best, Crawley! Standing for the new entity is what matters, and that's what this chap has seen you could do so well." He paused and looked at Matthew thoughtfully. "You did tell him I used to work for _Hunters_. Are you sure there's not a chance I would be conflicted?

"Apparently not. I asked about that when I recognised it was your former firm. But that particular company has only been a client of theirs since 1917. So there is no conflict."

"If this does come off, where will you stay when you are in London?" Alex asked. Matthew sighed. "I suppose I will have to stay at Grantham House," he said. "I won't like it much," he sighed again. "Still, it will only be for a few months."

Alex studied him thoughtfully for a moment. "You know Crawley. I've got a much better idea. Why don't you come and stay with us?"

0-0-0-0-0-0

Sybil and Tom stood silently, watching England recede into the distance until it was little more than a dark smudge beyond the roiling wake of the ferry. Baxter, Cora's new maid, whom Cora had insisted travel with Sybil to maintain an appearance of propriety was inside in the warmth of the cabin.

"Ready my love?" Tom finally turned to her, lifting her hand to his lips.

"I think so," Sybil smiled, his gentle kiss sending a frisson through her body. "But I am a little nervous about meeting your family. And what they might think," she admitted. "Especially your mother!"

"Mam will like you, no question about that," Tom said confidently.

"But how can you be so sure? What if she thinks I'm stuck up?" Sybil persisted.

"But you're not Sybil. You talk posh, but you never talk down to people! Mam will see that. She's already proud of you, having heard about your nursing. She looks up to girls who have done that. Taking after her heroine Florence Nightingale and all!" Tom clasped her hand in both of his.

"And your father?" Sybil pressed still frowning, despite the tingle of pleasure coursing again through her body from his touch.

"Da won't care," Tom said shortly, dropping her hand and leaning on the rail to look out, away from her. "Never took much notice of me growing up. Can't imagine that will change just because I'm marrying."

"Oh," Sybil said, a little taken aback. Tom had never really talked about his father and she had assumed, well what exactly had she assumed? Not much, she realised. And no surprise, given how little Tom mentioned him. But clearly, there was more to their family history than that. She leant down on the rail beside him. "He will be there, will he?" she asked hesitantly.

"I expect so," Tom continued to gaze outwards. He was silent a moment, and then he turned to her with an earnest expression.

"You know, my girl. Perhaps it's best I let you make up your mind about Da," he began. "Better that way than me swaying you with what I think. Besides, Mam thinks he's mellowed a bit these days," he rolled his eyes.

Sybil wondered what 'mellowed' meant, but decided not to push it any further. She nodded and squeezed Tom's hand. Perhaps it was best to meet this man who was to be her father-in-law first and go from there.

"Tell me about Kieran," she said, changing tack. "You said he fixes motor cars. What's he like?" Kieran was Tom's older brother and he had recently opened a motor repair business in Dublin.

"Aye. Kieran's all right. He's a hard worker. But he likes to play hard too," Tom smiled and shook his head. "Used to get into lots of scrapes. Mam despaired of him when he was a boy. Never knew when he was going to come home nursing a cut or sprain, or worse, be dragged home by the scruff of the neck by the local coppers for stealing an apple or for giving a shopkeeper too much lip!"

"Not so many scrapes these days then?" Sybil smiled.

Tom shook his head. "No. The work keeps him busy. And he has lads working for him. Has to act like the boss and not the boy!"

"I'll look forward to meeting him," Sybil laughed. She fixed her blue eyes on his and took his hand. "Let's walk a bit," she said. "And tell me about Bray. And growing up there! We've never talked about your childhood, you and me."

Tom grinned. "Well," he smacked his lips. "That's a big question! Where could I possibly start?"

"How about with your favourite places to play," Sybil responded as they strolled slowly towards the ferry's bow, feeling the deck vibrating beneath their feet.

And Tom began. Telling her of the blackberry hunts, escapades to raid neighbours' fruit trees, and hours spent each summer with Kieran at the pier, jumping off and daring each other to dive down and explore its weed and barnacle encrusted foundations.

"We were forever bringing things up," he recalled. "Once I found half a crown. And Kieran found an almost full set of partially rusted toy soldiers! And we pulled up heaps of bits of pottery. Heaven knows how old," he grinned.

"Did you do any fishing?" Sybil asked, recalling the joy of hanging a line off the wharf and landing even a tiny fish on her own childhood holidays to Scarborough.

"We did," Tom remembered. "Sometimes we got something big enough for Mam, but mostly it were just pinkeens."

"Pinkeens?" Sybil's brow furrowed.

"Tiddlers, you know, minnows," Tom explained.

"Oh," Sybil replied. "No good for dinner."

Tom shook his head. "Nope," he chuckled. "But a lot of fun for us lads. Da used them for bait. About the only time we ever got a smile out of him."

"And tell me a little more about Church," Sybil said quickly seeing Tom's expression start to darken again at the mention of his father. "I've done all this instruction. And taken my first communion now..." her voice faded off, remembering how nervous she had been. "But I've a lot more to learn."

Very early after her relationship with Tom had gotten serious, Sybil had resolved to convert, and in a closely guarded secret, she had been receiving instruction organised through the Sisters of Mercy convent in Middlesbrough for the past six months.

To Sybil, it seemed only fair: she knew his religion was important to him, so why not? She had no particular loyalty to the Church of England. And she felt she owed it to him: after all, Tom had made clear his unequivocal support for her to continue working once they married. Converting seemed the least she might do to show her commitment to him.

"Well… ask Father as much as you like at the rehearsal. He will make sure you understand the ceremony and the nuptial mass. And don't let the Latin put you off," he smirked.

Sybil's face darkened. "I'm still angry that we girls never had the chance to learn it, you know. If we had been boys, of course, we would have!" she shook her head.

"But you will have to now!" Tom countered. "Isn't it required for your degree?"

"It is. And I'll have to pass a course in it at Bedford college first, just to get in!" she sighed.

"Anyway, back to Church," Tom continued. "You will love the music. It's the best part. And we've my cousin to sing for us." He smiled, remembering then about the veils. "And how were your sisters when you told them they would have to wear a veil? At the sister's wedding no less?"

Sybil giggled. "They took it quite well. Mary asked lots of questions about what sort. I have a feeling she will somehow manage to make wearing hers a style statement!"

Tom sniggered. "I'm sure that she will!" and both of them began to laugh.

0-0-0-0-0-0

It was the week before Sybil's wedding and things were back to normal, _well, as normal as one could expect for the Crawley family,_ Mary reflected wryly as she looked around the masculine office in which she now spent the better part of each week. _After all, this weekend we must travel to a troubled country to witness my baby sister marrying a commoner. And not just some commoner: an Irish revolutionary!_

She almost laughed. How things had changed. How she had changed. The day was so dull she reached to turn on her desk lamp, pleased that she had no pain in her wrist as she did so. It had healed well, and she was relieved: she hadn't wanted to have to deal with a bandage whilst trying to look her very best at her sister's wedding.

Light rain was falling, the sound of its gentle pitter-patter oddly comforting on the estate office roof. _You can't hear the rain like this at Downton,_ Mary realised. She looked out and watched a rivulet of water track its way steadily down the window. She could see mist curling about the field in the distance. It felt wintry even though it was almost June.

With a sigh, she returned her focus to her work, running her eye down the long list of tasks in her notebook.

Across the room, Harry Cooke cleared his throat. "Lady Mary," he asked cautiously. "Do you have a minute? I've done the work you asked for reviewing those property reports."

"Certainly, Mr Cooke," Mary stretched and stood up. She crossed the room and sat down at the table alongside her employee. As Mr Cooke took her methodically through them, she felt a familiar wave of irritation with Jarvis. There had been no property inspection for almost three years. The records from the previous one were so poor it was impossible to know if the needed work had been carried out. And in the last year alone, there had been an increase in complaints: smoking chimneys, leaking thatch and blocked drains. _Is there any wonder we've had an increase in tenants in arrears?_ Mary thought in disgust.

Harry Cooke had finished. He and Mary contemplated the papers in silence.

"What do you recommend as a next step?" Mary said at last.

"A full inspection," he replied firmly. "With a schedule of work for each property to be completed, with the items in priority order. We'll also need estimates alongside so we have an idea what the costs for any repairs and maintenance are likely to be. And given the effort this will take, would you like us to seek estimates for the improvements you wish to make at the same time? If, of course, that is still a route you wish to go," he finished looking at her his face serious.

They did. Well, they had hoped to. Installation of electricity, improved heating and inside bathrooms, were some of the ideas they had tossed around. In contrast to other parts of Yorkshire, employment rates were relatively high in the village. The figures Mary had obtained suggested there was a cohort of potential tenants willing to pay a higher rent if it got them a better quality home.

"You really need to fill that maintenance position," Mr Cooke added. Mary gave a sigh. Molesley did have someone who could do the work, and she had already met the young man. But he was disfigured and partially deaf. Vulnerable. The last thing she wanted to do was to send him out to traipse through the village at the mercy of taunting youths and tenants who might see fit to slam the door on his battle-scarred face, rather than allow him in to carry out a necessary inspection. She pursed her lips. Maybe they did need to look for someone else.

"Mr Cooke," she said. "Do you know of any builders in the vicinity? We have a past association with that Durham firm of course, but to be blunt, I'd rather not use them…" she shook her head, her voice trailing off.

He nodded understandingly. He had been the one who had confirmed her suspicions the rates the firm had charged were inflated. And that hadn't been all: he had shown her bills Jarvis had paid that contained little or no detail, and told her of a number of instances relayed to him where the firm's workmanship had been found wanting.

"There is someone I know," he mused. "A Mr Brougham. He visits our neighbour sometimes. Not a young man, but from what I understand he does know his stuff. Would you like me to make inquiries?" Mary nodded, and he agreed he would follow up. She was too new into the job to have her own networks, and the situation was already urgent: she was keen to get the work under way whilst summer was still on their side.

Harry Cooke reported back a few days later. It wasn't promising. "I hadn't realised, my Lady, but he was hurt in the war," Harry Cooke's face was pained. "He can walk around and all that, but he can't manage the heavy work. I asked him about anyone else, and the only person he mentioned was the young lad we've already interviewed."

"Oh dear," Mary felt a little crestfallen: she had liked the sound of what the man had to offer, and she was fast realising how few people were out there able to do the jobs she required. She thanked Mr Cooke for the follow up he had done, and the two of them resumed their work. But later that morning, she resolved to speak again with Molesley. Maybe, by now, he might have someone else. So at lunchtime, she set off to Crawley house to talk with him.

Molesley didn't. But he put an idea to Mary that she hadn't previously contemplated. "You know what you might consider," he said thoughtfully to Mary after she had outlined their conundrum. "And that is employing the both of them."

"Both of them?" Mary echoed. "Quite how would that work?" And to herself, she thought, _"And how might I afford it?"_

"Well, here's what I see," Molesley said, and he outlined a plan to her that would involve the pair of them working together to conduct the assessments, with the younger man doing the climbing and crawling; Mr Brougham then responsible for drawing up the schedule of work and providing the estimates.

"And of course, when it comes time to start the work, not only can he do the lighter work, but he can supervise the lad too. After all, Lady Mary," he added delicately. "Neither you nor Mr Cooke is in a position to do that. This way, you'll have the benefit of a craftsman to provide that oversight role for you."

Mary pursed her lips, thinking for a minute, and then she nodded. "I like the sound of that. I like it very much. But I need to look at my budget again, and then, of course, I will need to meet with these two men and see if they themselves are willing."

By happy coincidence, she ran into her father on her walk home that very afternoon. "Mary!" Robert's face broke into a smile, and he kissed his daughter on the cheek. "How was the office today?" Isis gambolled up to them, a stick in his mouth. He dropped it on the ground and barked expectantly.

"Busy," Mary gave a wry smile. She leaned down to pat Isis. Straightening again, she said, "Papa, I am glad I've caught you. I am in need of some advice." She relayed the day's events and Molesley's idea to her father. "The problem I have is that I don't have the funds to pay for them both," she said, her brow furrowed.

"On what grounds?" Robert quizzed his daughter. He picked up Isis's stick and flung it away, and with a bark of delight, the dog raced off in pursuit.

"On the grounds of keeping the sum I pay for wages no more than what Jarvis was drawing in total," Mary replied, watching Isis his paws outstretched, launch himself upon the stick and scrabble it around.

"Hmm," Robert said. "You don't need to limit yourself in that way, you know."

"Truly?" Mary frowned. "I understood from you and Matthew that I must keep the Land Agent office budget to its current level."

"Yes and no," Robert countered. "We have agreed that capital improvements are needed. Getting this inspection done, and the critical maintenance started has to be a priority. If that means we need to review the office budget if more staff are needed, then so be it."

"But from where could the funds be sourced?" Mary asked. "Not the investments, surely?"

"Not the investments," Robert agreed. "We are going to need those funds for the major work. But we are under on the staff budget for the house," he said unexpectedly. "And we've been under for a while. We're two maids and a footman down, and to be frank, I don't see us needing to replace those positions. We've managed these past months quite well without them! And since Matthew has returned to work full time, he has insisted on paying Barrow himself. That has freed even more funds." He whistled to Isis, and the dog gambolled back to them and dumped the stick at their feet, his tail wagging.

"So you are saying you would you be willing to transfer money from that budget to mine," Mary stated reaching to pat Isis again.

"Having heard what you've just outlined, I would," Robert said. "By the sounds, we need these two folks if we are to get this maintenance and upgrading work under way." He sighed. "You must give me a few days to work it through with Carson however. He will not take kindly to me reducing the household budget."

"Of course," Mary nodded. "And thank you, Papa!" she was both surprised and pleased. Robert smiled and offered her his arm, and father and daughter walked the rest of the way home together.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Matthew was looking forward to Tom and Sybil's wedding. He found himself thinking about it over morning tea at work. He was alone in the staff room: Beatrice was running an errand, Charles was in London, and Harold was holding a meeting with the juniors in the boardroom.

The venue for the wedding was now Bray, not Dublin. Tom had told him the story one night over a drink at the Grantham Arms. "When I wrote to Mam and said we would marry at the registry office to avoid a scandal for Lord Grantham and our family too, she wrote me back, and my word was she angry!" Tom had looked sheepish as he recounted her words: _"What do you mean, scandal for our family? How wrong can you be! Tommy, you are to bring the girl here. You will marry at our church in Bray and we will welcome her to the family and love her as one of us! Don't you dare shame her and your family with a registry office marriage!"_

"I'm liking the sound of your Mam very much!" Matthew had chuckled. "It is right you know. You are both so in love. You should have a proper wedding."

"And if Robert were hearing you now he'd give you a clip around the ear," Tom had finished.

"But he's not," Matthew had replied comfortably. "And let's have another drink. Barrow isn't here to tell me off for that either!" and with a snort of laughter, Tom had gotten up and obliged.

But getting there, in the end, was to prove impossible for Matthew. Later that same morning, he received two telephone calls in quick succession: the first was Dr Jones's secretary, seeking to bring his appointment forward a week: could he come in on Friday as Doctor Jones had been asked to travel unexpectedly. If he couldn't make the new time, the next available appointment would be a month away.

The second call was from Lavinia's husband Jonathan. Her father had passed away overnight. The funeral was to be on Saturday. Oh, and by the way, Reggie's solicitor was going to be in touch: the beneficiaries of Reggie's will were requested at a meeting immediately after the service. And he might also want to know that Reggie had left instructions that journalists, specifically war correspondents, also be invited.

Mr Charkham would explain it all when he called. _So Reggie has something he wants to say? And he wants the fund publicly announced?_ Matthew thought. He smiled to himself. _Well played, Reggie. Go out in style and make sure as many people as possible hear of your significant bequest!_

Replacing the receiver after Jonathan rang off, Matthew sat quietly for a moment, the ramifications of what it meant for Sybil and Tom's wedding starting to sink in. Travelling to Ireland now seemed out of the question. The hospital appointment alone had thrown it into doubt: it would force him to travel late, which was never a good idea when he needed his rest. And Reggie's funeral was the same day as Sybil's wedding.

There was no way that Evelyn could attend. And besides, it wasn't just about the bequest: it was Lavinia's father for god's sake, a man to whom he had been very close. He owed it to him, and to Lavinia to be there. He sighed. There was no way around it. He would have to miss the wedding. He picked up the telephone to call Mary.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Cora and Mary, with Anna accompanying them, caught the train to Holyhead on Thursday afternoon to rendezvous with the evening ferry to Kingston.

As they settled themselves in the first class compartment, Mary looked across pensively at her mother. "I cannot quite believe we are doing this. Voluntarily going to a country that has pretty much-declared war with our own! And not a man to accompany us," she shook her head.

Cora smiled. "It is strange. But if we abide by the precautions Tom has recommended, I am sure we will avoid any unpleasantness," she sat back and recalled the conversations with him. Tom had suggested they might wish to travel under Cora's family name and avoid using their titles whilst in public. Tom knew from his family and his journalist contacts that English aristocrats were increasingly facing hostility from disaffected Irish: He had hastened to say he didn't see any direct danger. "All should be well. You are women, of course, but I don't want to see your visit ruined by someone being less than welcoming."

After much discussion, they had reluctantly agreed, resolving it was better to be safe than sorry. Cora was to be the American Mrs Levinson, and she would do the talking when they were in public. Mary would hide her wedding ring and travel as her daughter, Miss Mary Levinson. Edith, when she arrived, would do the same. They were to stay at the Esplanade Hotel in Bray, where Sybil and Baxter already were.

"And besides, we must be there for Sybil's sake," Cora continued. "It is not what I wanted for her, of course. But she has made her choice. And as her mother I want her to know she will always have my support."

"Our support," Mary corrected. "And you couldn't convince Papa. Not even at the last minute?" Cora shook her head. "No. I could not. There is too much pride at stake for Robert. And I understand that." Mary studied her mother intently for a moment, picking up a slight note of insincerity in her voice. She opened her mouth to say something and then decided against it. Instead, she leaned back and shut her eyes.

She couldn't help but reflect how recent events had so changed her mother. She hadn't supported her and Matthew's marriage at first: but now she did so unequivocally. She had thrown herself into giving Edith the full society wedding, something Mary would never have foreseen, and here she was, acting in a manner that Mary knew already would send shockwaves through her circle of friends when they eventually heard of it: travelling to troubled Ireland to witness her youngest marry a former member of the Downton staff!

In the seat across from her, Cora breathed deeply and turned to look out the window. What she had not revealed to her daughter was that she had disobeyed Robert to come. She was still angry with him over the affair with the maid Jane and enraged by the knowledge that the affair was known about by sinister strangers well beyond their four walls.

Had it been any other time, she knew she would have stood by him in his wish that they do not openly support their daughter's choice. Instead, Robert's insistence they not attend the wedding had seemed mean and duplicitous in light of his own conduct. And Cora had felt a perverse pleasure in calmly informing him she was travelling to Ireland with Mary, and that she would do so, regardless of whether he chose to accompany them or not. Her decision had shocked Robert and forced him to confront the uncomfortable truth that the process of regaining his wife's trust would not be a quick one.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Matthew sat jittery, drumming his fingers together, waiting for Doctor Jones to finish writing his notes. The examination had taken the best part of an hour. Isobel flashed him a smile. She, like Sybil had been, seemed unconcerned, but she also knew how worried Matthew was. He had been uncharacteristically quiet for the entire train trip to London, and nothing she had said had reassured him. He had relaxed a little once they had arrived, with the practicalities of the assessment to focus on, but now his nerves were back with a vengeance.

At last Dr Jones looked up. "Well Mr Crawley," he smiled. "The first thing I must say is I'm pleased with your progress in the past ten weeks. You've recovered a full range of movement in your right leg. And a reasonable degree of movement in the upper left. That is good. Very good indeed."

"But not enough strength yet to stand," Matthew was unable to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

"No. But don't allow yourself to lose hope. Atrophy is hard to reverse, and particularly hard where nerve damage is involved," He pursed his lips and looked at Matthew thoughtfully. "This is where I must agree with what Sister Crawley is recommending in her report.

"You are going to need some other forms of therapy to build up your strength. And adding to that, we're also going to have to do something for that left leg." He paused, looking back at his notes, and said, frowning a little, "I'm sorry, but the earliest the therapists have advised that I can get you into the programme is a month off."

"What does the programme involve?" Matthew asked. Dr Jones's words had reassured him a little although he still couldn't shake a deep-seated doubt. The month delay he didn't mind: In some ways, it was a blessing. It would give him and Mary time to get organised.

"Daily physical therapy sessions," Dr Jones answered. "Here, at Shepherd's Bush, where we have the equipment and the experts. You will need to base yourself in London for a while."

"How long do you expect it will be for?" Matthew queried.

"You must expect it to be at least three months," Dr Jones replied.

"And will I be able to continue with my work?"

"The sessions will take several hours each day. And you will need to keep up your rest. But I can't see why you can't continue with at least some work. You are a lawyer, is that correct?"

Matthew nodded.

"How much courtroom work?" he asked.

"None. I am a solicitor. So I do have room to negotiate when and where I meet with clients."

Dr Jones nodded. "Good. Flexibility will help. But I must warn you against taking on too much: the therapy will be very tiring, particularly early on."

0-0-0-0-0-0

The day following their arrival, Cora, Mary and Edith met the Branson family for the first time for afternoon tea. After an awkward beginning, the visit went relatively well. The three of them had been nervous when they alighted the cab outside the modest, semi-detached home two streets back from the beach.

Inside, seated in the tiny sitting room with cups of tea and thin slices of barmbrack, Tom's mother Aileen had soon broken the ice. She had asked about their involvement in the war effort, and did they know that two of Tommy's cousins had also served as VAD's with the Red Cross in France? The conversation flowed after that. Aileen wanted to hear as many details as possible about the running of the convalescent home, and also of Mary's work at the hospital.

And Sybil had clicked with Tom's father. She had been making a gentle effort toward him all week. And in the course of the afternoon visit with her mother and sisters, she slipped outside to stand with him in the tiny front yard where he had gone to smoke his pipe. She soon had him telling her all about his work as a railway man, and even a little of his childhood, growing up poor in Coombe. Tom came out looking for her sometime later and found them both in fits of laughter. On hearing his greeting, his Da turned and looked at his son with a twinkle in his eye.

"Aye, Tommy," he began. "Now this one's a catch!" and Tom's face broke into a grin.

The morning of the wedding dawned fine and calm. Sybil's mouth was dry as the cab drew to a stop outside the Church of the Most Holy Redeemer in Bray. Cora touched her arm gently. "Ready my dear?"

"Nervous," Sybil replied honestly.

"Well don't be," Mary said warmly. "Look who's waiting for you!"

Sybil looked out seeing Tom and Kieran waiting at the top of the steps, both of them beaming from ear to ear. They were wearing matching suits; charcoal grey morning coats, blue neckties and pinstriped trousers: a gift that Matthew had insisted on paying for. Tom, in particular, looked very smart indeed. His hair was neatly combed and the blue tie he wore matched his eyes perfectly. Sybil gave a little gasp and she could feel tears pricking her eyes.

"Mmm," Edith giggled. "He scrubs up rather well darling. You've lucked in on the handsome stakes!"

"I've known that for some quite some time!" Sybil replied happily. "But Mary has too… oh, and…" her face reddened, she hadn't meant to offend Edith but she was unable to say quite the same about Sir Anthony.

Edith cut across her, smiling with the easy confidence of a happily married woman. "Don't worry my dear. Anthony beats both your pretty boy's hands down in the 'distinguished gentleman' stakes!" and even Mary had to smile at that.

At the entrance to the church, Tom couldn't take his eyes off Sybil. She looked beautiful in her silk wedding dress with its panels of Irish lace, that she had insisted be designed for her by none other than Esther Pearson. A circlet of fern and forget-me-nots adorned her veil, matching her posy and the buttonhole on Tom's lapel.

He took her gloved hands in his. "Well, m' Lady," he said in his Irish lilt. "I can't believe we're doing this. It's the stuff of my dreams."

"And mine," Sybil said softly.

Cora made some last minute adjustments to her daughter's veil, and then kissing Sybil on the cheek and whispering 'good luck' she, Edith and Mary donned their own modest veils and followed Kieran inside. As they reached the aisle, they all glanced at each other, more than a little impressed, as Tom's cousin Maeve began singing a beautiful rendition of Schubert's _Ave Maria_.

A few minutes later, the _St Anthony Chorale_ their cue, Sybil and Tom entered the church and processed together down the aisle towards the altar. A murmur of hushed but excited voices went up. Tom couldn't resist a grin when he heard his cousin's young daughter exclaim loudly, "Look, Mam! Uncle Tom is marrying a princess!" A princess. He was indeed.

The ceremony had a solemnity and poignancy neither Sybil's sisters, nor Cora had expected. Mary felt unaccountably moved by the sung service, despite recognising only a few words of the Latin. _She is marrying. And she is doing it properly._ Mary realised. She wished Matthew had been able to come. _He would have loved this so much_ she reflected. She felt a heady sense of relief. Whilst there was a stark difference in their relative wealth, and of course various refinements, she saw in the Branson's a strong and proud family, with echoes of her own. And their warmth towards Sybil was deeply reassuring. Sybil, her cherished younger sister, was truly going to be all right.

Cora dabbed her eyes as she watched her radiant daughter, head held high, leave the church on Tom's arm. She felt a sudden pang that Robert wasn't there. _He would have seen how right it is,_ she thought remorsefully. If only things could have been different. She sniffed and dabbed her eyes once more, hoping that if not now, perhaps when children came, Robert would fully accept Tom as his son-in-law.

There was a _céilí_ that evening in the local hall. Aileen took Cora under her wing, introducing her to one relative and friend after another, and when the dancing started, she found herself being whirled around the room firstly by Tom's father, and shortly after that, by one of the Uncles. Kieran was on his best behaviour, his initial suspicions of these 'posh folk' having been swept away by the very fact Cora, Mary and Edith had come, unaccompanied to Ireland at a troubled time. He proved a solicitous host. He took it upon himself to introduce Mary and Edith to various family members, and later partnered both of them during the dancing. And he carried out his role as Tom's best man with a dignity that clearly astonished both his mother and his father.

When the cab arrived at midnight to return them to the Esplanade hotel, it was a reluctant trio indeed that took their leave. The chattered enthusiastically the whole way. "It reminded me of the Ghillies balls we have always enjoyed with Shrimpie up at Duneagle," Cora reminisced.

"Except that these musicians seemed to work doubly hard! The older fellow with the concertina didn't ever seem to stop!" Edith was clearly impressed.

"Nor the young lad with the bodhrán," Mary added. "And thank goodness they called that sixteen-hand reel. I would have been hopelessly lost without them reminding us!" Back at the hotel, they were too excited to sleep. Instead, they gathered with cups of hot cocoa in Cora's room and talked about the wedding, Edith's honeymoon adventures and Mary's first weeks as the land agent well into the small hours.

0-0-0-0-0-0

It appeared on the morning of Sybil's wedding. A nasty little story, occupying a few paragraphs in the Society columns of every single one of Carlisle's newspapers: A story that would soon shatter the fragile peace between Cora and Robert and send shockwaves through the rest of the family.

It was the picture of him with Jane Moorsum on his arm that was the most incriminating, Robert reflected. But it was the insinuations his daughters took after him that outraged him the most. Thank goodness they were all safely away. And thank goodness, he thought, more than a little uncomfortably, that Cora had refused to mind him when he tried to insist she not attend Sybil's wedding. Thank goodness too, that Tom had come up with that harebrained scheme that they travel under Cora's maiden name! He was now very, very glad of that indeed. _And let's hope to God that no one they meet over the weekend has access to English newspapers,_ he muttered darkly to himself.

He sat, motionless in the dining room well after he had finished the little he could manage of his breakfast. Then with a heavy sigh, he got to his feet and went to the telephone in the hall to call Charles Carter.

_**Earl's Dirty Little Secret**_

_Fraternising with the hired help is commonplace among our titled elite. But it's not often we find a whole family shamelessly indulging in it. Especially not a family that prides itself on its charity and good deeds like that of the Earl of Grantham. But appearances are clearly just that: behind the charity and good works is a tale of debauchery. The picture says it all: Here is Lord Grantham, leaving the front entrance of the Grand Hotel in York with none other than his housemaid Jane Moorsum on his arm! Sources tell us that following this mid-week dalliance he forced her to have an illegal abortion. A procedure from which the wretch later died! And his daughters seem intent on following in their dear Papa's footsteps. We were told that one was sacked from work as a land girl during the war after a romp in the hay with a tenant farmer. Married, by the way! And only weeks ago, the Earl's Chauffeur was sacked, after what we are told was a longstanding affair with his youngest. Dalliance, Depravity and Deviance indeed!_

0-0-0-0-0-0

Over breakfast the next morning, Cora was unusually relaxed and chatty.

"Do you know girls," she said smiling at Edith and Mary. "I do believe this time away has done me a world of good! In fact, in some ways, I wish it could be a little longer." Her tone was a little wistful, and Mary and Edith glanced at each other furtively, before looking sympathetically at their mother. "Did I tell you I had a letter from Mama recently?" she continued. The girls shook their heads.

"No. Is she well?" Edith asked.

"She is well. But she is getting on. She was keen to do some travel out of state whilst she is still able and asked whether we might like to visit and accompany her. But with things the way they are with Robert, well…" Cora's voice trailed off, and she looked out of the window.

Mary was quiet for a moment, thinking. She had a strong sense that some time apart for her parents would do them both the world of good. Would her mother consider travelling alone? And take this as an opportunity for her to heal? It might also allow her father the chance to make amends with the staff and the Downton community without Cora there as a constant reminder of what had gone on. Because of course, some of the staff had surmised the truth despite her and Mrs Hughes's best efforts at discretion. But Mary felt nervous of her mother travelling alone. I_ wonder if I could go with her. After all, I've a notion to ask Uncle Harold to become an investor alongside Matthew and Anthony. And face-to-face will always work far better with Uncle Harold than any letter would._

But could she bear to be apart from Matthew? Ever since their near miss with the lorry, she had felt a wrench just seeing him off to work each morning. The period she had spent nursing Rosamund before they had even been married had been bad enough. How could she bear a few months on the other side of the ocean? _It might just have to be,_ she thought. And she knew Matthew, like her, would put their responsibility to Downton and to her wider family ahead of any pain they might both feel from a temporary separation. She took a deep breath and looked back at her mother.

"Mama. Why don't you do as Grandmama asks? Visit her this summer. And travel with her as she wishes. Papa could stay at home. I… I'd go with you if you would like."

"You would travel with me?" Cora's eyes widened. "But what about Matthew? And your work for the estate?"

Mary studied her for a minute, wondering how to put what she wanted to say. "Matthew I'm not sure about. I'll have to ask him. But in terms of my work for the estate Mama, well that's just it. Me travelling with you would be."

"What do you mean?" Cora asked. "Surely you're not after more Levinson money to bail us out!"

"Oh no," Mary said vehemently. "This isn't for a bail out Mama! We're after investment partners. What Anthony and Matthew can put in to do our upgrading and new development is not enough. But we have a sound business case. And I would prefer to avoid having to approach the banks." She gave a brief smile. "I'm wondering if I can get Uncle Harold investing in bricks rather than boats."

Just as they stood up to leave the restaurant a little while later, a waiter came up to Mary. "Excuse me, Miss Levinson," he said. "A telegram has just arrived for you." He handed her the envelope, and Mary took a seat in the lobby and opened it, waving Cora and Edith on upstairs. Her face paled as she read, and after she finished she placed it on the seat beside her, and sat motionless, gazing unseeingly across the lobby. Finally, she stood, and outwardly calm and composed again, she made her way slowly upstairs to ready herself for the journey home.

There was much laughter when they farewelled each other at the train station. Tom and Sybil were to spend a week holidaying at Malahide before they returned to London and their new life together. Edith was returning directly to France and Anthony for the remainder of their honeymoon. She had announced to them all that she and Anthony had decided to significantly extend their time away: Anthony was finding the climate agreeable, so they had decided to take an additional two months, allowing them time to visit Switzerland and Italy before returning home in the Autumn. Mary hugged both her sisters a little tighter than usual, and there was something a little pensive in her demeanour. But with all that was going on, neither of her sisters noticed.

"What did the telegram say?" Cora asked when they were finally on the ferry, having said their goodbyes to Edith and her maid Gertrude in Kingston.

Mary swallowed. "I meant to tell you about it. There has been a change of travel plans. We will need to return via London."

"Is something wrong?" Cora frowned, thinking immediately of her son-in-law's medical appointment.

"No, no," Mary said hastily. "Matthew is well. It sounds like it might be some sort of business thing. And I expect that Papa is with him: he said he would explain it when we arrive," she added, desperate to invent something her mother would accept.

"Very well," Cora nodded and asked no more about it.

What Mary didn't let on was the tenor of Matthew's telegram.

MARY AND CORA RETURN TO LONDON NOT DOWNTON STOP STAY THE LEVINSONS ALL TRAVEL STOP COME TO ALEX'S HOME STOP SOMETHING SERIOUS BUT NOT DEATH STOP NOT ME I AM WELL STOP I LOVE YOU STOP

She didn't want to alarm her mother, not now, after the special time, it had been for them all. No. Any bad news could wait until they were all together.

She gave a slight shiver. Something awful had happened. And it had to do with Richard. She just knew it.


	44. Chapter 44

The flat grey of the London afternoon, the city smells and noise after the freshness of Bray pressed all too close. And by the time the cab driver drew up outside the Shiptons' gracious residence in a leafy corner of Chester Square, Mary's heart was racing. Her anxiety heightened even further when Giles, the elderly butler showed them through to their hosts without offering them so much as the briefest chance to freshen up.

Stepping into the drawing room, they were greeted warmly by Alex. Clarissa followed suit, but Mary could see concern behind her welcoming expression. Matthew greeted them equally warmly. Robert however, seemed unable to speak. Stooped and dishevelled, he appeared strangely out of place in the sumptuous drawing room. _Papa looks utterly broken,_ Mary thought with a pang. She gave her father a sympathetic look before leaning to kiss Matthew. She clasped his hands in hers. "I missed you!" she said fervently. "We all missed you, actually! It was a very special wedding."

"And I so wish I could have come," Matthew replied sounding a little wistful. "And now…" his voice trailed off.

"Richard has done something, hasn't he?" she whispered her eyes darkening. "Your telegram…"

He nodded and swallowed. "I think, perhaps, we might need to leave Cora and Robert for a bit." He glanced at Robert, who raised his chin.

They must have decided ahead. Mary found herself being led immediately from the room, Alex saying to Robert, "Take as long as you like. Ring the bell for Giles if you need anything."

"Thank you, Alex," Robert answered distractedly, and as the others departed, they saw him turn to Cora who was now looking positively alarmed, and motion her to a seat.

Ensconced in Alex's study, Matthew explained to Mary what had happened, and what they were going to do. She gave a cry of horror when she saw the news clippings and the photograph showing her father with Jane Moorsum on his arm: the exact same photograph of which she had a cyclostyled copy of, locked in her desk back at home. Robert had agreed to fight the allegations: Eddie was filing papers on his behalf on the morrow. As she gazed at the photograph, an uncomfortable thought crossed her mind and she inhaled sharply. "Matthew. Did Papa ever tell Mama about the picture?"

Matthew groaned slightly. "He didn't. And I had counselled him, months ago to do it!" he sighed. "All he told her was that someone had found out about the abortion he had arranged for Jane after her attack. Robert makes things so difficult for himself at times!"

"I never told Mama either," Mary said, almost inaudibly. "I didn't think it was my place."

"It wasn't," Matthew answered firmly. "And now Robert will have to explain why he only gave her half the story." Mary rolled her eyes in annoyance. She stood up and began to pace. This was going to make it far worse than it need have been for her mother, she just knew.

"And what have you decided to say? Given that at least some of what is here is true?" Mary turned back to him.

"We stay with the truth. The palatable aspects, I mean," he added hurriedly seeing Mary's eyes widen. "Lord Grantham came to the aid of an employee who had been attacked. Mr Branson resigned to take a position as a journalist, a career move that Lord Grantham actively supported. Lady Sybil married him in Ireland at the behest of the Groom's family, who had sought a Catholic wedding," Matthew paused and glanced up at Mary. She nodded, so he continued. "Lady Edith left her employ as a land girl as she was required at the convalescent home when it opened."

"It's all a little too…" Mary started, and she began to pace again.

"It is," Matthew agreed. "But we have time on our side with these allegations where Edith is concerned, and Sybil's marriage was hardly underhand!"

Mary looked dubious. "Are you sure about Sybil?" she pressed. "Did Tom ever say what it was that Braithwaite did to upset him so?" she stopped her pacing. "Oh god. They didn't…" her mouth dropped open.

Matthew looked at her, frowning. "Surely not! They are both far too honourable for that!" He stared at her, thinking hard. "But you are right," he swallowed. "I had completely forgotten what Tom said about Braithwaite. Perhaps she saw them together. Perhaps they kissed."

"You mean another photo?" Mary said, horrified.

"Let's hope not. But we will need to find out!" Matthew gave a groan. "It's the last thing I want to bother them about on their honeymoon." He drummed his fingers nervously on the armrest of his chair, and Mary again resumed her pacing.

"And what about Edith?" she asked. "Did she ever tell you what happened? And is there any…?" her lip curled in distaste.

"She did," and to Mary's astonishment, Matthew laughed softly.

"Why are you laughing?" she said crossly. "It's not funny, surely, Edith bringing her self and us into disrepute!"

"Don't believe what's here!" Matthew waved at the newspaper dismissively, and he told her the story. Mr Drake and Edith had spent the day haymaking, and they hadn't finished until the early evening, by which time both of them were tired and very thirsty. Mrs Drake had brought them out sandwiches and ginger beer.

"The problem was, your poor sister hadn't come across proper ginger beer before," Matthew chuckled. "She told me she swigged the whole bottle in a matter of minutes. And Drake did the same with his! Well, you can imagine what happened, both of them dehydrated after a day of hard work, getting more than a little merry. And here he is, with a pretty young woman with a peaches and cream complexion sitting next to him! She did say it was only a single kiss, nothing more."

"Oh for goodness sake!" Mary huffed, but her lips twitched in spite of herself at the thought of the naïve Edith of three years ago getting unintentionally drunk in a hay shed. "I wonder who it was who saw them," she mused. "Aside from Mrs Drake! A farmhand perhaps?"

"That's what I think," Matthew responded. "So it will be easy to cast doubt. Drake will be far too embarrassed to confirm it, and we know already that his wife won't: apparently, that man who was snooping about tried to get it out of her and he failed."

Mary walked across to the sofa and sat down. She took a deep breath. "So that takes us back at the main problem. My father's infidelity," she glanced down at the newspaper still clutched in her hand. "How do we prove Jane was attacked? I can't see many people accepting that. She doesn't look hurt in the photo!"

"Actually, we may have that sorted out," Matthew countered, wheeling himself across to her. "Just before you arrived Charles called and said that apparently the porter who found Jane had gone to the police."

"If that was the case, why on earth was it never followed up?" Mary puzzled.

"Apparently it was," Matthew replied. "The police did visit Jane, but she was worried for your father and so embarrassed by the whole thing she refused to press charges. So the police didn't investigate any further."

Mary felt a wave of anger. _It serves her right,_ she thought furiously. _She should have been embarrassed! Arranging to meet someone she thought was Papa! Knowing Papa was married!_ A pang of guilt quickly followed. She couldn't stay angry knowing the awful price Jane had paid for her mistake. With a shudder, she remembered how afraid she had been when Kamal had pushed himself on her. And then there was Richard. Richard. All of a sudden, she was back in the small library again, and his fist was smashing into her face, his eyes glittering menacingly only inches from hers. Adrenalin surged through her and the newspaper in her hands fell to the floor.

"Mary?" Matthew's voice was full of concern as the colour drained from her face. She pressed her lips together to try and stop them trembling. She didn't trust herself to speak. He wheeled closer and hauled himself out of his chair, coming beside her on the sofa. "What is it?" he asked puffing slightly from the effort. He put an arm around her shoulders.

"A… A bad memory. Jane…" she gestured the paper on the floor with a shaking hand, "it reminded me …" she gulped.

Matthew pulled her close and kissed the top of her head. _Pamuk. Carlisle!_ It enraged him to think how she had suffered at the hands of the both of them. _Bastards,_ he thought furiously. But no point him getting worked up now. Mary needed his reassurance. "Breath," he instructed softly, nuzzling her hair. "It will help you feel better."

He was right. After a few minutes she had calmed herself, and she straightened up and turned to face him. "In some ways it's a blessing Jane is not alive to bear the mortification," she said sadly. "Saved the horror of having to relive what that brutal man did! But what of her mother? And her orphaned son?"

Matthew shut his eyes and leaned back against the cushions. That was the worst of it, as far as he was concerned. The thought of what the lad would have to face at school, his late mother's photo splashed across the gossip columns, her actions painted in the worst possible light. "Charles went to see them today," he said quietly. "To tell them what we intend, and to offer our help. Robert will pay if she wants to lodge proceedings herself on behalf of her daughter."

"Well, I suppose that's the least he could do," Mary's voice was tight. Whilst she felt deeply sorry for her father, it sickened her to see the mess for innocent others his infidelity had played a part in.

"Hmm," Matthew agreed. "A pity he can't do more! I just wish it was him having to face the jeering lads at Ripon Grammar tomorrow, and not that poor boy."

"And Mama and I had left you to face Papa with all of this on your own!" Mary continued full of remorse. "I know my father. It would have been hell on earth!" Matthew almost laughed: 'hell on earth' was indeed what the previous evening had been, dealing with the simultaneously inconsolable and furious Robert.

"It wasn't the most pleasant of experiences," he admitted. "But if you really want to know, I was glad you weren't here. Very glad in fact!" he looked at her earnestly. "Thank goodness you were off enjoying Sybil's wedding without this spoiling it!"

"When did you find out?" Mary asked, taking his hand.

"Well," Matthew grimaced. "Mother and I were in the midst of saying good bye to Lavinia, when one of the journalists who had just interviewed me after the announcement of the bequest came hurrying back. He had with him a copy of _The Daily Mirror_, and he gestured the article and said, looking rather uncomfortable I might add,_ "Sir, this gentleman. Not your father by chance?"_ Well, Mother and I both automatically shook our heads and looked blank, and then he said, _"But Sir, aren't you from Yorkshire?"_ and thank goodness, Jonathan piped up and cut across him and said, _"He's a Manchester Crawley, remember? Duke of Manchester's Own?"_ and he went, _"Oh yes, of course. Well then. I must apologise. Thank you Sir, and all the best again for the work you are doing for the veterans."_

"Oh, thank god for Jonathan!" Mary looked at him aghast. "That was a close call indeed!"

"It was," Matthew replied grimly. "Of course we couldn't leave after that. Lavinia and Jonathan let us stay and use their telephone to make some calls. By then, Robert was hiding out at the Dower House. We made arrangements, and he waited until the late train and then joined mother and myself at Alex's. They have been marvellous. Clarissa looked after him. He arrived a shaking wreck as you can imagine," Matthew sighed again. "Not surprisingly, neither he, nor I, got much sleep last night. And Mother left this morning to go to Violet. To tell her what Robert will do, and offer her support."

Mary nodded, relieved to hear that Isobel would be with her grandmother: she knew Violet would not find this easy by any means. They sat for a while, each lost in their own thoughts. Eventually, Matthew spoke. "I wonder how Robert is getting on."

"Badly, I presume," Mary replied. "Mama is still so angry with him anyway. She was a lot more relaxed being away from him whilst we were in Ireland," she frowned. "She talked to Edith and myself about going to America to see her mother. Without Papa! And now, with all of this, it suddenly seems an extraordinarily good idea." She described to Matthew how it had come about: that Grandmama wished to spend some time with her daughter travelling out of state whilst she was still able.

"And, there's something else," Mary said a little uncertainly. I hope you're not cross, but I offered to go with her. Not just to keep her company, but because it would give me a chance to talk about the investment opportunity for Downton with Uncle Harold. Face to face."

Matthew's head jerked up and he looked at her, his mouth falling open slightly. "Actually, Mary," he began slowly. "Much as I hate the idea of being separated from you, it's really not such a bad idea. Especially not now! You see…"

He was interrupted by a knock on the door. Clarissa came in and announced that Cora had asked for Mary: she had gone upstairs for a break.

"You'd better go," Matthew said immediately. "We'll finish our conversation later." Mary nodded and stood up. "And I'll check on Robert," Matthew muttered, half to himself, and he got himself back into his chair and followed her out.

"Mama?" Mary said uncertainly at the door to the bedchamber. She wanted to run to her and embrace her, as she would have as a small child, but instead, she stood motionless, hands at her sides, clenching and unclenching her fists. Cora's cheeks were pale and her eyes were red, but there was resoluteness there that reassured Mary.

"I'm going to go to America," Cora began. "I'll stay a few months. Robert will stay at Downton and try to repair the damage this… this…" Cora struggled to force the words out, "has done," she finished tightly.

Mary nodded, and this time she moved to the bedside where Cora was perched and sat down next to her. "When will you go?"

"As soon as possible." Cora turned to face her. "Will you come with me Mary?" and this time her voice wobbled dangerously. Mary nodded. "Of course," she reached for her mother's hand. "Of course Mama."

They gazed at each other, both pensive. At some point, Mary found the courage to ask the question she had been dreading. "Mama," she said hesitantly. "You and Papa. Will you be all right?"

Cora blinked rapidly. "I think so," she said at last. "We will continue to shout and argue of course," she gave a heavy sigh. "But we both want this behind us. And we're not the type to stay acrimonious. We like being together! We… we do still love each other," she tried to smile. "I just need some time."

Mary nodded and gulped, aware that tears were pricking her eyes. She nodded. She wanted to say something, but she couldn't find the words. Finally, with an attempt at a reassuring smile, she said sincerely, "It will turn out Mama. Your marriage will survive this. I just know it."

0-0-0-0-0-0

Back in the study together sometime later, Mary and Matthew compared notes. "How was Papa?" Mary asked.

"Distraught," Matthew replied grimly. "But accepting of what needs to happen. I think he instinctively knows Cora travelling will be the best thing for them," he yawned. "And it will give Robert a chance to repair things in Downton, with the staff of course," he added. "Cora not being there will make that easier I suspect." He rubbed his eyes.

Mary was concerned at how tired he looked. The previous twenty-four hours had taken their toll. And it was then she realised with a start that she hadn't even asked him how his medical appointment had gone on the Friday. "Matthew," she began. "Let's get off the topic of my parents for a while. What happened with Doctor Jones? With all of this I haven't even had a chance to ask you!"

Matthew sighed. He didn't feel like talking about it. _If you want to walk, and don't forget it's still only a chance, you must put in more time, more effort, cut down your paid work and expect to be more tired_, was the message he had taken from the good Doctor. And right now, on top of everything else, it was all too much. But Mary had a right to ask: she was his wife for goodness sake!

"Well," he said slowly. "He was pleased with the progress I have made, you know, getting movement back, especially in this leg," Matthew straightened his right leg a little as if to demonstrate. "But Sybil was right about me needing something else. Doctor Jones said a different therapeutic approach is required to what's been done so far. He wants me based in London. It will be a lot more intense, and it's going to take some months, he thinks," he sighed again.

"And by the end, you can expect to be walking?" Mary asked intently.

Matthew stiffened. "He didn't say that, Mary. How could he possibly know! But the programme he wants me in is usually three months."

"But you did ask him, didn't you?" Mary looked at him, surprised.

Matthew shook his head, suddenly irritated. "Why would I? Mary, I wish you wouldn't talk like this," he said in exasperation. "You know there's still no guarantees!" his eyes flashed.

"Oh, for goodness sake, Matthew! Why do you always take my questions the wrong way? You're so damn prickly!" Mary was stung. But as soon as the words were out of her mouth she regretted them. _Where the hell did that come from Mary?_ She chided herself. _With all, he's trying to cope with on top of his recovery? All caused by you and your blasted family!_

"I'm sorry," she said mortified. "I really am. That was uncalled for."

She couldn't read Matthew's expression. "Leave me," he said flatly. "Please." He looked away from her. He didn't trust himself to respond. He knew if he dared, it would be to either rage at her or cry, and he had no appetite for either. He just wanted to be alone.

Mary sat rigidly, the room silent except for the ticking of the grandfather clock. Finally she stood and left, closing the door quietly behind her. The tears started, when she was half way down the hallway. She leaned against the wall, her hand across her mouth trying to stifle her sobs. And it was there that Clarissa rescued her a short time later.

0-0-0-0-0-0

"Ready to face the world?" Alex enquired as he refilled his friend's whiskey glass. Matthew groaned and shook his head slightly. "Perhaps just dinner and your wife then?" Alex corrected. Matthew gave a non-committal shrug, his eyes fixed on the golden liquid he was swirling around in the tumbler. "Not quite yet," Alex observed. Matthew gave another shrug. Alex put his glass down on the walnut wine table and flopped beside him on the sofa. "Not to worry old chap," he said gently. "Dinner can wait."

Matthew raised his eyes to his friend and attempted a smile. "Thanks. I mean it."

"No thanks needed." Alex put his hand briefly on his shoulder before reaching for his glass again and the pair sat in companionable silence.

The conversation with Alex had helped a lot. He knew how Matthew's mind worked, and he was not at all surprised to hear how Matthew had reacted to his wife when he heard the story. "She just wants the best for you old chap," Alex had said. "Try not to see it as pressure. That's where you're coming unstuck."

Matthew knew he was right, but it was hard to shake his fear of disappointing her, and he had told Alex that.

"You're really worried, aren't you," Alex realised. "That's what this is really about! You don't believe it's going to work."

"About sums it up," Matthew swallowed.

"Why?" Alex had asked simply. And the whole, jumbled story had come out. It was partly the reality: the patchy sensation and pervasive numbness, and how hard it was to fight that trying to rebuild even a modicum of strength. And partly Matthew's inherent suspicion of doctors, perhaps from knowing from his own father just how much of medicine was pure experimentation and guesswork. To then feel pressure from his wife, when he already felt keenly how he owed it to his mother and to her to fully recover, well, that was the last straw.

"No wonder you're worked up!" Alex removed a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and passed it to Matthew. "All that uncertainty doing your head in. If it were me I'd be in the madhouse by now," he said sympathetically.

Matthew snorted through his tears. "Might be where I end up at this rate," he mumbled.

"Well, it's not like you haven't got other things on your plate. Trying to hold your father-in-law together for one. Not to mention your work, and all the support you've been giving me. And Evelyn!" Alex paused and looked at him thoughtfully for a moment. "You know what? I think it's time the doctor ordered you take a good dose of selfishness. At least for a bit."

"And how realistic is that?" Matthew threw his hands up helplessly.

Alex set his jaw. "Quite realistic," he said, his voice suddenly firm. "Here's how I see it." And he had put to Matthew the beginnings of a plan.

It was almost nine o'clock when Giles returned, saying courteously but firmly, that if they didn't mind, Sirs, the dinner really couldn't wait any longer now, and could they accompany the ladies through to the dining room. Alex raised his eyes to Matthew, who nodded this time, and the pair dutifully filed out.

Mary and Matthew both paused at the dining room door, Clarissa and Alex having entered ahead. They turned to each other, both a little uncertain.

"I'm sorry," Mary whispered taking her husband's hand and clasping it between both of hers.

"Don't be," Matthew replied, his voice low. "I was being oversensitive. I'm sorry you had to bear the brunt of it!" He was relieved to see her relax then, and he smiled and lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed it gently. "Are we both forgiven?" he whispered. "Of course," Mary blinked back a tear.

"Very well. Let's go in," Matthew raised an eyebrow in a comical expression. "Poor Giles is beside himself at our tardiness!" And chuckling softly, they entered the richly panelled dining room and joined their hosts.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Dinner proved not the ordeal Mary had worried it would be, as in the end both her parents chose to eat alone and separately. Having apologised to each other, the good food and wine soon restored her and Matthew to a semblance of normal cheer, and Clarissa helped, keeping the conversation away from the day's events. She asked after Sybil's wedding and her new husband's family. She was intrigued when Mary told her how they had travelled under her mother's family name, and she laughed merrily with her guest when Mary recited how several times she had forgotten who she was supposed to be, looking around for someone else when she had been addressed as "Miss Levinson."

"And what is the mood in the country?" Alex enquired, having heard the tail end of their experience travelling _in cognito._ Mary explained how they had witnessed the two extremes: Royal Irish Constabulary officers on edge, and clearly out of their depth with the open hostility being shown towards them by disaffected youths. And the reverse of that: an instance where they saw an RIC officer turn a blind eye to a gentleman, clearly an aristocrat, who was openly baiting and kicking a young man with an Irish Independence placard on the street outside the railway station in Dublin.

"They are all very nervous what is to come," Mary's voice was solemn. "There are gangs of ill-disciplined and angry young men everywhere, on both sides of the conflict! And the countryside is alive with rumours about what our Government intends towards the breakaway _Dáil Éireann_. Tom's family and many others are worried that if it is banned, the declaration of independence will become a declaration of war."

Both Alex and Matthew flinched visibly. Alex took a large gulp of his drink. Mary swallowed, immediately wishing she had been a bit more reticent before using the term 'war.'

Matthew shut his eyes and rocked slightly. He knew Tom had worried of this for years. But with what they had all just seen… _God, hadn't anything been learned? Was all the senseless horror and waste for nought? How could they not be reconsidering?_ He gritted his teeth, at a loss to understand how his own countrymen could continue to defend a corrupt system and push others to the brink. At the risk of the loss of yet more lives. He scowled and set his jaw.

"Anyway," Mary said hurriedly. "There are good people there on both sides trying to make progress. Let's just hope they can, before things go too far."

Giles arrived to announce that dessert would be served. It was a welcome interruption. After they finished, the four of them retired together to the drawing-room, and it was there that Matthew finally had the chance to share with them all what had happened at Reggie's funeral and afterwards with the announcement of the bequest.

"It was an auspicious occasion. A celebration of quite an extraordinary man!" Matthew said. "From humble beginnings, he went on to see real success in business, despite some awful personal tragedy along the way."

"Lavinia's mother," Mary remarked.

"And her infant sister," Matthew said heavily. Mary gasped: she hadn't known. Clarissa put her hand to her mouth. Hearing of women dying in childbirth was always a little too close to the bone for women of child bearing age, as they both were.

"And yet despite that, he did a wonderful job of raising his daughter single handed. And the words he had Charkham read out to announce the bequest were quite incredible!" Matthew sounded impressed. "It was humbling to be there. It really was. He started with this poem of Vera Brittain's, from her work as a VAD. Actually I think I've still got it," and Matthew reached into his jacket pocket and took out the memorial. He began to read.

_"**Epitaph On My Days in Hospital.**_

_I found in you a holy place apart, _

_Sublime endurance, God in man revealed, _

_Where mending broken bodies slowly healed _

_My broken heart."_

Mary and Clarissa both found their eyes were damp.

Matthew swallowed and continued. "And then, he had Charkham explain why he had made his bequest, the tragedy of his two friends in the Boer war, and he challenged every man there with resource, to match what he had done and contribute to our fund, or others' funds concerned with veteran welfare." Matthew gave a wry smile. "There were more than a few uncomfortable looks among the well-heeled in the crowd when Charkham read that out!

"And what followed after that, was pretty much a political statement. I hope the journalists do a good job and get it in the papers. He accused the Government of dragging the chain on making the King's National Roll scheme compulsory, and he slammed the War pensions, saying the payments were so pathetic they would condemn thousands of wounded veterans to a life of poverty, and what thanks was that to the sacrifice they had made?" Matthew was frowning as he recalled the words.

"And how much was the bequest in the end?" Mary asked, humbled and impressed by what Mr Swire had deliberately orchestrated upon his death.

"104,500 pounds," Matthew answered and he smiled. "It's very exciting. If we're careful how we invest, we will be able to use it for an awful lot of good."

0-0-0-0-0-0

If Mr Cooke had even read the news item it wasn't clear. He greeted Mary no differently to any other day when his wife brought him to the office at nine o'clock on the Tuesday morning. And for that, Mary was intensely grateful. She told him immediately of her intention to travel in order to secure funds for the improvements they wished to pursue, and they set about making a plan for the office in her absence.

Immediately after lunch, they met with whom they hoped would become their new maintenance team: the grey-haired wiry Mr Samuel Brougham and the strapping Mr Arnold Willis, who had attempted to hide his scars with his hat pulled low and his scarf positioned high. _Not even twenty and a ruined face,_ Mary thought with a pang. She gave him her warmest smile, and gestured the pair inside. As Mary knew, the two men were already acquainted, and they seemed at ease with each other. _That bodes well,_ she thought. She was desperate for the arrangement to work. Not just for the estate, but the wellbeing of the young man. Like others who had nursed, she knew the stories: far too many of the veterans who had suffered facial injuries were taking their own lives.

And so she was more than a little horrified at Harry Cooke's reaction when she introduced young Mr Willis. "Blimey man, strafed were you?" Harry Cooke said his mouth falling open as he took in the misshapen jaw and shattered cheek.

"And what left you such a basket case? A daisy cutter?" the partially deaf Mr Willis shot back loudly. They two of them eyeballed each other defiantly for a moment, and then they both began to laugh helplessly.

_Humour in the blackest of situations_, Mary thought with an inward sigh of relief. She and the older Mr Brougham shared a furtive smile. It would be all right. They were going to get on.

Later that afternoon, after a very productive discussion, the pair departed with a clear understanding of the inspections they were to start carrying out on the morrow. In need of a rest and a drink, Mary said, "Mr Cooke. Shall we take our tea outside? It's such a warm day." Mr Cooke readily agreed, so when the kettle had boiled, she pushed him outside, and returned first for a chair for herself, and then for the cups. She handed him his, and he nodded his thanks. They talked about the day's work and enjoyed the sun. Later, they greeted a few passers-by, several of whom looked at them a little curiously.

It was then that Mary realised with a jolt that she had been so absorbed in the day's work that she hadn't once thought about the drama embroiling her family, and that curious looks should of course be expected. And with another jolt, she realised how little the thought of people talking about the incriminating news actually bothered her. It was somehow insignificant in light of the task with which she was occupied: employing wounded soldiers in the meaningful work of improving the village's housing stock, and with it, the lives of its citizens.

_How odd_, she reflected. _Who would have thought I would find such purpose in this work. With these men! To not have gossip be a worry! How changed I am. And what a relief to be so changed!_ She knew without a doubt the Mary of yesteryear would have struggled far more. She smiled wryly to herself and sat back and took another sip of her tea.

Mr Cooke had interpreted the curious stares quite differently to his employer. He turned to her, frowning slightly and said, "You have to admit, Lady Mary," he gestured with his cup. "This isn't normal. You the future countess making the tea! Having to wheel a basket case like me about!" he shook his head. "And employing a fellow whose face looks like it's been through the mincer!"

Mary raised her eyebrows. She was growing used to his bluntness. "It feels very normal to me, Mr Cooke," she said drily. "My husband is disabled. And I have just finished more than a year nursing many, many soldiers and bringing them cups of tea! And until I have sorted a secretary for us here, I will do the same for you. If you don't mind of course," she chided him gently.

He blushed and looked away. "Of course not," he muttered. "It's just…" his eyes darkened and he looked down at the little that remained of his lap. Mary gazed at him and contemplated again the devastation the war had wrought on him and so many others. Eventually she said softly, "We may not have ever imagined, and certainly never wanted what has come to pass with this war. But it has. And we are made different by it. For better or for worse!" she paused. "And I believe it behoves those still alive like yourself and those like myself who owe our freedom to others' sacrifice to do our damn best to make sure it's for the better."

He returned her gaze with a solemn expression. "Yes," he said finally. "I do believe that you are right," and he gave her a sad smile.

0-0-0-0-0-0

The next few weeks passed in a whirlwind. Cora remained in London, staying with a trusted friend, who, like herself, had been raised in America. As such, the woman didn't see the scandal in quite the same way as many others of their circle, and her hospitality provided Cora with a needed safe haven.

Esther Pearson surprised her by visiting with the children, and they spent a delightful day at the national art gallery. Mary had set it up: popping into the haberdashery one lunch hour to choose some ribbon, Esther Pearson had taken her aside and asked, concerned, of Lady Grantham's welfare, and was there anything she could do to help. Then and there, Mary had said, "As a matter of fact, there is. Visit her!"

She had pressed some notes into her hand. "Use this for the train fares. I'll organise it with her friend, and get you the address. She's lonely and you'd be doing her an enormous favour if you and the children visited!"

The rest of the time Cora laid low, taking long walks in the park with her friend, the pair of them shopping in slightly less fashionable districts, and eating out in more modest establishments than those they would normally, all to avoid running into anyone Cora might know.

Sybil put her head down when she returned to work, thankful for the protection afforded by the hospital's strict hierarchy, which meant she had only ever been addressed as "Nurse Crawley," and now, of course, "Nurse Branson," in her role as a trainee therapist.

She had informed the two who knew who she really was, Miss Lewis and Doctor Jones immediately she had returned, telling them what had happened and that her father had lodged proceedings to fight the allegations. Miss Lewis had reassured her she would say nothing. Doctor Jones had nodded and said "Thank you for informing me. If you have any problems, do let me know. Otherwise, we'll say no more about it," and so far, thankfully, no problem had arisen.

Back at Downton, Matthew, with Alex's support, talked Robert around into looking after Mary's work in her absence.

"It will give you a chance to re-establish yourself with the villagers," Matthew urged. "Especially on a project where you're improving people's lives! If you hold your head up and stare people down, they're more likely to believe you and not what's been in the gossip columns."

Robert reluctantly agreed. He knew he had little choice but to do all he could to redeem himself. And besides: It was essential that the work continued, and the staff supervised in Mary's absence.

A fortnight after the scandal broke, a Downton Returned Soldier's Association special general meeting was held. It had been scheduled to allow for a membership vote on the investment options of a modest bequest. And to Matthew, it was a timely opportunity to raise a matter for general business concerning their Patron Lord Grantham.

He was nervous in the car on the way there. Sensing his unease, Barrow made himself ask, "Would you like me to accompany you in, Sir?" As a rule, Barrow tried to avoid the Downton public houses: too many people suspected his leanings, and he had no appetite for the abuse he might risk from a drunken man as a result.

"No thank you, Barrow. I'll manage," Matthew gave him a wry grin. "I've asked Doctor Clarkson to be here, and I can always count on Mr Connell's support."

"Very well, Sir. I'll be back waiting for you here at nine o'clock," and with a polite nod, Barrow returned to the vehicle.

As Matthew had expected, the conversation lulled noticeably when he entered. But he was pleased to see there was a good turn out. That was going to help. Whilst there were cheery greetings from the ones he knew well, others were more cautious. And some, clearly embarrassed, didn't greet him at all.

The meeting progressed in a far more stilted fashion than usual, and Matthew deliberately let Charlie, elected Acting Vice Chairman in Evelyn's absence, do most of the talking. And when Charlie called for general business, Matthew took a deep breath and raised his hand.

"Fellows," he began. "There is an elephant in the room." Nervous laughter followed, but he had gained the men's attention. "It concerns our patron, Lord Grantham. And I therefore wish to take this opportunity to address it." Looking around, there were a few nods, followed by an expectant silence. Matthew reached into the leather folio he had brought and removed a series of news items and other documents. He spread them out across the table, facing out towards the men.

His next move sent a ripple of excitement through the crowd. Pulling out a pocket Bible he held it up and waved it in the air.

"You all know what this is," he began. "And most of you are aware that I am a practising lawyer. As such, when I make an oath on the bible, I pledge to tell the truth. I'm going to do the same right here for you. And pledge that everything I share with you this evening will be the truth." And he did. The men gathered in more closely now, eyeing the papers, and Matthew with interest. Jo came out from behind the bar to watch. Matthew started with the news clipping that announced the arrest of Sir Richard Carlisle for suspected war treason.

"See here, this man, Sir Richard Carlisle? Some of you will know of him. He is a newspaper magnate. He owns every single one of the newspapers the allegations against Lord Grantham appeared in. This was not a coincidence. Sir Richard does not like Lord Grantham. And nor does he like these men," Matthew pointed to various news items in front of him that were vilifying two other aristocrats: Lord Browning and Viscount Chesterfield. "It's probably safe to say what is written here about these men might also be a fabrication," he added.

He pointed back to the news item about Carlisle. "As you can see, Sir Richard is currently on remand in Pentonville awaiting trial for war treason. It is alleged that he sold information about our side to the Germans, putting our people at risk. And potentially prolonging the war."

A ripple of disquiet went through the assembled men, and those who had been hanging back now came in a little closer.

"I'd now like to deal with the supposed scandal," Matthew continued and he pointed to the item with the picture of Robert and Jane.

"Jane Moorsum was indeed a maid at Downton Abbey. On the day that this photograph was taken, she had been lured to, and then brutally attacked by a stranger at this hotel. A porter who heard her screaming rescued her. When the hotel staff asked whom they could call, she told them the name of her employer, Lord Grantham. As some of you are aware, Jane was a widow. She had no husband, nor other close relative who could have easily come to her aid. The reason she is leaning on Lord Grantham's arm is because she was injured in the attack." There was muttering and murmuring: clearly some in the room doubted that was the case. Matthew looked around. "Doctor Clarkson? Are you with us tonight?"

"I am," a voice answered from the back of the room, and Richard Clarkson made his way slowly through the crowd to the front. "What was it you wished to ask, Mr Crawley?" he asked formally.

"Is it correct that Lord Grantham brought Mrs Moorsum to you for treatment after this incident?"

"That is correct," Richard Clarkson bowed his head.

"And is it also correct, that Mrs Moorsum did not die in the manner alleged here. But that instead, she died of the Spanish flu, Doctor Clarkson?"

Again he nodded. "Very much so," he explained. "The cyanosis was very pronounced. An almost textbook case."

"That might be, but we know his Lordship was sleeping with her!" a young man interjected from the back of the room, causing another ripple of murmuring and muttering through the crowd.

"Who told you?" Matthew asked calmly. "Not Edna Braithwaite by chance?" The men immediately began talking excitedly amongst themselves, and Charlie was forced to bang the gavel on the table and call the meeting back to order.

With the men silent again, Matthew stated simply, "Edna Braithwaite was a former employee of Sir Richard Carlisle. We have cause to believe she was at Downton on account of his business. Which was to make mischief for Lord Grantham." The chatter rose again, and once more, Charlie was forced to call them to order.

Matthew dealt next with the allegations against Sybil. When he calmly explained that Sybil was married to Tom Branson and that the reason they may not have heard was that the groom's family had requested the pair marry in Ireland in the family's local Catholic Church, a veritable storm of chatter erupted. Charlie rolled his eyes at Matthew before losing patience and hollering at the men to please shut up.

"But wasn't he sacked for dishonourable conduct?" someone called out cheekily. Matthew's face, hardened and he opened his mouth to speak. Charlie Connell bet him to it.

"What the hell are you saying? Believing gossip column nonsense that besmirches Lady Sybil's good name? Shame on you!" he spat furiously. The room went silent. Sybil had always been popular in the village: she had nursed quite a number of the men who were present, and there would have been few there comfortable with any insinuation against her.

Matthew cleared his throat. "Mr Branson was not sacked. He resigned to take up a position as a political journalist for the _Daily Herald_ in London. I have here, two of his recent articles." Matthew gestured the items on the table.

Richard Clarkson's lips twitched when he saw the items Matthew had chosen to clip: one was an article about working men's rights to a fair wage and the other was about concerns that soldiers were not getting a fair deal from the pension scheme. And Matthew hadn't finished. "It may also interest you to know that Lord Grantham actively supported Mr Branson's efforts to become a journalist. He gave him free access to his library. He also provided a reference for him, and gave him time off for not one, but several interviews."

After a few more questions from the men, Matthew dealt at last with the matter of Edith, explaining simply that she had ceased her work as a land girl to work at the convalescent home when it opened. "And before you unquestioningly accept the allegations here, consider that this is a young woman whose utmost dedication to the wounded at the home earned her numerous accolades, including from General Sir Herbert Strutt.

"It is, of course, your choice who you believe. It may be me, and what I have shared with you tonight. Or it may be this man. The man responsible for these allegations," And Matthew picked up the newspaper with the headline "Newspaper Baron on War Treason Charges" and waved it around.

He looked around the room, eyeballing the men. Many of them nodded at him. A few looked away, clearly needing time to think. He looked at Charlie, and Charlie cleared his throat. He grabbed his crutch and stood up. "Well, fellows," he began. "Lord Grantham is still paying for the lunches. And his wife and daughters played a big role in supporting all of us with the war effort. I don't know about you, but it's pretty damn clear to me who we should be giving the benefit of the doubt," and scowling a little, Charlie sat back down with an audible thump. There was a murmur of agreement through the assembled men. Charlie raised an eyebrow in Matthew's direction. "That's it," he muttered, and Charlie drew the meeting to a close.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Sir Richard Carlisle lay on his bunk, hands tucked behind his head, surveying the crisscrossed wire springs above him. He was brooding. Despite his recent coup, which had bought the silence of two influential men, things were not looking up. His legal team were making non-committal noises. And now Doncourt was sniffing around for all the wrong reasons. He groaned, and pulled at his hair.

He had to get a man into Lord Grantham's house. Pity that woman had died. She'd got out a little that had proved useful, but the flu had taken her before she had time to finish the job. He needed someone else. It was essential he find out if, indeed, it was Lord Grantham who had outed him to the authorities. For instinct told him it had to be so. He couldn't imagine how: Lord Grantham had always come across as a dim-witted idiot, but he had been the one who had uncovered his tax fraud. And found out about his other women. He must be certain. For if so, there was no way he could risk the man taking the stand as one of the 'undisclosed witnesses' his lawyers had cautioned him about.

But to remove that risk, to put a man deliberately in harm's way demanded surety: he did not wish to burden his conscience otherwise. Especially not considering the man's daughter. Mary. He sighed when he thought of her. A trophy he had let slip through his fingers. What an impeccable wife she would have been. He felt a stirring in his groin as he thought of the few occasions when he had been able to parade her: that fund-raising ball in London she had accompanied him to shortly after their engagement, stunning in a dark green gown, an emerald about her neck, a tiara adorning her perfectly styled hair.

He had felt the envy of the other men present. Basked in the triumph of what he had landed. Oh yes. They would have been so very right for each other. Still. Not long to wait now. Only a matter of time before her paralysed excuse for a husband eventually succumbed to his war wounds. And then she would be free to be his again.

0-0-0-0-0-0

The clatter of rubbish bins, shouts from the men operating the lorry outside roused Mary shortly after dawn. She awoke happy, and more than a little turned on. It had been a rather sensuous dream: Her, Matthew, a grassy slope on a deliciously warm, late summer's day, and absolutely no clothing.

She smiled dreamily to herself, her hand travelling automatically to her crotch. And then Matthew's hand was on hers and becoming more fully awake, she turned towards him, surprised and blushing in the half light. "You heard the noise too?"

"Mm-hmm" he murmured, and she sighed with pleasure as she felt his warm hand slip under hers to begin a confident exploration of her dark curls and the warmth and wetness beneath. Her pleasure increased, so much so, that a few minutes later, she pushed his hand off, sat up and removed her nightgown. As Matthew went to do the same with his own clothes, she pushed him gently back. "Let me," she whispered, desperate, suddenly, to prolong their intimacy, to commit the process of their love making to memory, to have something to hold onto, to survive the eight long weeks of separation that loomed ahead.

Silently, he understood, and his eyes followed her every move, as slowly, sensuously, and with the utmost care, she began to undress him, administering numerous kisses along the way. Her focus and deliberation, and the way her eyes raked over his body undid him. His heart began to race and his skin quiver under her touch. "Mary," he stuttered, "What…" She quietened him by cupping his face in her hands and delving her tongue into his mouth, relishing the warmth and the taste. Matthew murmured and the quivering of his body gave way to trembling. And then she moved down there and he groaned with delight as he felt the masses of her thick, dark hair tickling his abdomen as she worked him, caressing him and playing with his balls until he was hard.

His eyes flashed, initially shocked when she released him, but that gave way to heady anticipation as he realised what was next. He put his arms around her. She was tender helping him up: wild when she sat astride him and tucked her legs tightly about his waist; and moaning with pleasure when she worked his length inside of her, relishing just how much he filled her and how right it was.

His eyes locked on hers, breathing in her scent. He growled and pressed her tightly against his chest, her soft, strong body stoking the fire that was now consuming every fibre of his being. He worked her up to a rhythm. Mary began to grunt and curse, her earlier constraint giving way to raw need. She put her hands over the strong pair kneading her bottom, urging him on. He obliged, pulling her hips down harder. Their rhythm became frantic, then chaotic, their bodies slapping, slippery with sweat. She grabbed at his hair, panting audibly. The bed creaked beneath them. Matthew crushed his lips to hers, desperate, possessive. She could feel his stubble scratching her face. The sensation heightened her arousal, and she moaned, her tongue incessant now against his. He growled and his hands were painfully tight on her bottom.

"Oh hell… Oh… God.." Mary's eyes glazed. Matthew let out a ragged groan, and for the first time in their married life, they went over the precipice together. They collapsed back on the bed, breathing hard, utterly spent.

When finally, her breathing had quietened, Mary lifted her head off Matthew's chest and gazed at his face. He was flushed, his hair gloriously tousled, lips red from their antics. His eyes sparkled back at her. And as usual, his beauty took her breath away. "I love you," she whispered. "So very very much!"

He smiled at her, his brilliant smile, and her skin prickled, desire flooding through her once more. "Mmm," her voice was sultry. "How about we do that all over again," and the look she gave him was pure lust.

Matthew's eyes filled with unexpected tears. "You can't know how much that means to me when you say that," his voice caught. "For us to be together. Married. And to be lovers like this," a tear tracked down his cheek. "You make me feel… You make me feel whole."

"You are whole," Mary said gently, and she pressed the single tear on his cheek lightly with her finger. "And you have made me whole too."

He gulped and reached up to brush a tendril of her hair back from her face. "I'm going to miss you so damn much." More tears ran down his cheeks. "I must be crazy letting you go!"

"I didn't exactly give you much choice," Mary admitted, her own eyes damp now. "But you, me, we are both creatures of duty. This duty is to Mama."

"And to Downton don't forget," Matthew sniffed. "Just come back with Uncle Harold signed up, for god's sake!" He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "Then I might almost feel my sacrifice of being without you for two months will be worth it!" And he pulled her back down onto his chest and cried silently into her hair.

The sun was soon rising, and their day of farewell marched inevitably on. When the horns sounded, and the tug began nosing the massive steamer away from the dock, a dark-eyed woman with a tear-streaked face remained on deck, clutching the railing, looking back until England was no more than a smudge in the distance. And in a smoky public house a few hundred yards back from the dock where the steamer had departed, a blonde man sat and stared unseeing out of the grimy window, whilst his tall friend ordered him a third shot of whisky from the bar.


	45. Chapter 45

A week to the day after Mary's departure, Matthew travelled to York with Viscount Branksome and Lavinia for the inaugural meeting of their re-formed Trust. He was pleased to be going. He was missing his wife terribly, so having something positive to focus on was most welcome: the publicity surrounding Reggie's bequest had done what they had hoped, and both he and Viscount Branksome were bringing to the meeting expressions of interest from a series of potential donors. Sarah-Jane had organised a meeting room for them at the hospital, and it was there that the three of them met with Evelyn and their fifth Trustee, Doctor Charles Wilson, who had served with the Royal Army Medical Corps during the war.

They took a break mid-afternoon: Evelyn needed to lie down, and Matthew returned to the ward with him whilst the others, and Sarah-Jane, departed for tea at a nearby hotel.

"You've had a dramatic few weeks," Evelyn commented as he reclined back on the pillows.

"You can say that again," Matthew's voice was grim. "Not a few weeks I would like to repeat!" _And I hate being without Mary_ he added silently to himself, wondering briefly what she was up to at that particular moment, away on the other side of the world. Evelyn made a placating sound, and Matthew continued. "I take it your father has caught you up on what Robert plans to do?"

"He has," Evelyn pursed his lips. "I have to say, he's not that impressed with his old friend. But they've weathered too much together for him not to stand by and support him."

Matthew rubbed his forehead. "Robert has certainly made a mess of things," he conceded. "But the whole thing is a hundred times worse because of what Carlisle has been up to. I'm really glad Cora is taking this time away whilst there's still talk of it all over town! She is so mortified by the publicity of it all."

"And how is Mary? Felt she had to be away too? I do hope she's not blaming herself for all of this," Evelyn frowned.

"She was concerned for her mother. And the opportunity to seek investment support for what we want to do at Downton tipped the balance on her decision to travel with Cora," Matthew replied. "She's going to try and convince her Uncle Harold to put in some funds whilst she's in New York."

"And her feelings about it all?" Evelyn persisted.

"I'm pleased to report she hasn't spent hours berating herself! I worried initially that she might, but aside from her worry for her mother and sisters, she's been quite matter of fact and a lot less bothered than she might have been."

"That will be your influence ," Evelyn remarked comfortably. "With you she feels invincible."

"Perhaps," Matthew raised his eyebrows. "And I suppose it is the same for me. I've been feeling decidedly less invincible, and considerably more ill-tempered since she's been gone!" and whilst he spoke in jest, his sadness at their forced separation was plain to see.

"You'll weather it, old chap," Evelyn spoke sympathetically. "And having so much on, as you have right now will be a blessing: it will help the time that she is away go quicker," and Matthew had to concede that he was probably right.

"Getting back to Carlisle," Evelyn asked, "Are you any closer to understanding just why all this muck raking? Is it all just to discredit possible witnesses at his upcoming trial?" he frowned. "Or is it like Eddie says? The man is trying to get your attention and expose some bigger game?"

Matthew cleared his throat. "Actually, Evelyn. It appears that he is," and Matthew told him the story of Lord Doncourt and what Charles had found out. Evelyn's eyes widened in shock.

"No wonder you don't want to do anything more. Hell!"

Matthew looked a little uncomfortable. "Actually, whilst I've told Charles not to do anything more, we, well Mary actually, is going to do some more digging on the quiet," and he explained that she was going to research what she could whilst she was in New York. "It was her idea. She'll see if her Uncle can help. He's very well connected."

"She'll be careful I take it?" Evelyn looked worried.

"Very much so. She's going to pretend she has a friend with a minor investment who is worried about what has been going on."

Evelyn nodded, still looking concerned, but then he smiled. "I suppose she'll carry it off just fine. She does do a good poker face!"

"She does indeed," Matthew grinned.

A comfortable silence descended. Evelyn dozed a little, and Matthew took the opportunity to read the _York Herald_ from cover to cover. When the tea trolley arrived, they began to talk again, and Matthew caught Evelyn up on his work.

"I had my first meeting with the textile firms we're doing the merger for last week," he remarked. "They are an irascible bunch. All determined to merge, but all equally determined not to see their own positions compromised in any shape or form!" he snorted. "It's pretty clear the only way we'll make this work is to come up with such a novel structure there's no room for them to start comparing."

"Which I am sure you will do," Evelyn commented.

Matthew rolled his eyes. "Here's hoping. At least it's all I'll have to focus on for a while. With Alex to help! And he has already made good on his promise to bring in some more resource: He's got Charles a replacement for me in Ripon. A chap formerly with Hunters who wanted to move North. He starts this week. And he's been in touch with Eddie, and he may have found us another two, to help us establishing the London office."

"How has that come about?" Evelyn looked interested. "He's not poaching from his own firm is he?"

Matthew chuckled. "Oh no. They're all barristers. Actually you'll be interested in this. He's been doing some pro bono work for ex servicemen getting the run around on their war pensions. And among his clients were a couple of former lawyers down on their luck."

"Suffering that awful hopelessness we keep seeing I take it," Evelyn said heavily.

"That's the one," Matthew's voice was grim. "One of them has lost an eye, and with it, his confidence. The other has been recovering from shrapnel wounds. Pretty much all right now, but Eddie said he just seems lost: his former firm is no longer operating. The principals were both killed. A bit like what had happened for Harry Cooke."

Evelyn shook his head and set his jaw. Stories like this underlined the urgency of the work they had set their Trust up to do.

Matthew continued. "Anyway. Alex is meeting them next week. With a bit of luck there could be a win win if they have the legal skills we need." He told Evelyn a little more of their plans: how they were going to use the opportunity of the merger work to set up a branch in London, with Clarissa taking on the task of sourcing them suitable premises and administrative support.

"What about long term? Will you stay on in London and run the new office?" Evelyn asked.

Matthew shook his head. "I don't want to. Alex will initially."

"Wasn't he keen to move north?"

"He is. But with the way things are," Matthew's voice trailed off, and Evelyn gave him a questioning look. "We'll just have to see how things go. If it all works out, we'll get a principal in place and at that point Alex will move north to establish a further office in York."

"Your energy for all this is quite inspiring!" Evelyn commented.

"It's Alex," Matthew looked across at him. "He has an amazing ability to get things happening. Always has had. And brilliant when it comes to strategy. So, yes, the plans do sound ambitious, but with him in the picture, and Charles there with his huge experience to call on, it feels entirely possible," he smiled. "It's why he did so well in the goddamn Army too." His face clouded and he looked away. "I just hope he can escape the war demons before they start burning him out."

"He still not sleeping?" Evelyn said intently, realising it was this that was behind Matthew's earlier comment.

Matthew shook his head. "No." They fell silent, both knowing the hell that was awaking in the middle of the night from a dream of death and destruction so terrifying and so real it would take long minutes to realise it was only that: a dream.

"And when do you start at the hospital?" Evelyn changed the subject.

"Monday."

"You're going to win our wager you know," Evelyn said a little downcast. "I've got to weather one, possibly two more operations yet."

"I don't know about that," Matthew looked away and sighed, the dread he was feeling about the new programme coming back with a vengeance. He made himself focus on Evelyn. "Are you able to do any therapy at all?" he asked.

"Very little. I'm only now getting my energy back, and I have to keep my leg elevated most of the time. And they are not nearly as progressive as what we had at Downton," he finished a little wistfully.

"You could do something about that, surely," Matthew commented. "Couldn't Sarah-Jane get some help from Sybil?"

"I think she's intending to. She got quite cross the other day when we were suggesting something we both thought would be safe for me to do to the nurse who runs the programme, and she just looked blank."

"Perhaps you might suggest the nurse talks to Sybil, or her boss, Miss Lewis," Matthew said shrewdly. "Make out she could get some of the latest ideas from the specialist hospital and bring them back. Show a bit of leadership and all that."

"Hmmm. I guess it could just work," Evelyn pondered. "If she doesn't take it like we're telling her what to do," he frowned and paused. "Oh, I suppose it's worth a try anyhow!" he looked a little more cheered. "I'll talk with Sarah-Jane and see how we might plant the seed."

0-0-0-0-0-0

_July 6 1919_

_My darling,_

_I write this letter knowing that by the time it reaches you, you will have been in New York for some days, and I very much hope, enjoying the chance to explore a new place. Please think of me when you visit the Statue of Liberty and Central Park, they are both places that have fascinated me ever since I was a small boy, and I look forward to hearing all about them._

_I have been very busy since you left. Thankfully so, as I miss you terribly! I am relieved to be staying at the Shiptons, as I know if I weren't, the evenings without you would be simply unbearable. They are both so very good to me, and Clarissa seems determined that I enjoy an active social life whilst I am here: she has already had Eddie over; Sybil and Tom will be joining us for dinner later this week; and she has invited mother to stay two weekends after next, including arranging us tickets to a concert at Covent Garden._

_I feel very humbled to have such kind friends, although it pains me to tell you that things are not good for Alex. Twice already, I have had Clarissa awaken me and ask for help to calm him down. He is terrorised by the most horrible nightmares, and nothing they have done seems to work. When I arrived here I found they had turned the downstairs sitting room into their bedroom: being on the quieter side of the house they thought it might be the street noise setting him off. But so far it has had little effect. I am just glad I am here to support them as they have so often done for me._

_I have my first physical therapy session at Shepherd's Bush tomorrow, and I can't say I am looking forward to it. In fact, the only thing that I am looking forward to is that your dear sister will be there to provide a friendly face among a whole new group of medics to whom I must entrust my recovery, all the while having to once again be surrounded by men the lives of which the war has left in disarray. Miss Lewis has arranged for Sybil to be trainee assistant to Miss Haversham, the senior therapist who will be working with me. So that, having got me this far, she might learn from what comes next. If I do improve of course: right now I can't imagine anything will make the difference, having got absolutely nowhere this past little while. If I sound melancholy, please forgive me. Without you in my life with all your joie de vivre I am finding it hard not to be._

_On a happier note, Evelyn sends his love. No more set backs for him thank goodness, although he does have at least one further operation to go yet. We had a very positive first meeting of our Trust. Would you believe, we now have a further 40,000 pounds pledged by others – and that is just out of the publicity that surrounded Reggie's bequest!_

_It's cheered Evelyn hugely, and I think that, and being married to his sweetheart at long last has given him a much-needed shot in the arm. And now that he can cope with short outings, he's teamed up with some other former soldiers in York to help with the efforts under way to bring the returned servicemen's organisations together to provide a more powerful voice. A big step towards this was made just recently with the National Federation of Discharged and Demobilised Sailors and Soldiers finally agreeing to allow officers to join, and at a practical level, it means branches like ours at Downton, which have always been mixed, can now affiliate if we wish._

_I am enjoying summer time in London. There is a lovely private garden here at Chester Square, and a couple of evenings now after dinner, Alex has brought the croquet set out and we have played, usually against Clarissa and her friend Joan who lives close by. It has been a pleasant way to relax and forget our various distractions! And now I must away: the dinner gong has just sounded, and Barrow is laying out my clothes. Alex's father is here for dinner._

_Take care my darling, with much love and kisses,_

_Your adoring husband, Matthew_

0-0-0-0-0-0

_11 July 1919_

_Dearest Matthew,_

_My first week here has been most exciting. Wednesday saw us at Carnegie Hall to hear President Wilson upon his return from the Paris Peace conference. Huge crowds lined the streets, and it was quite the battle just to be able to get in and take our places! His speech was rather emotional, as was the tenor of those gathered. He spoke of a Just Peace with the Treaty now settled, but urged that everyone see it only as the beginning, saying "Now is the great task to preserve it." It was very inspiring. And since then there has been a lot of talk in the newspapers of the Covenant of the League of Nations. If public sentiment can be trusted, it does seem that the country will ratify it. I very much hope so, for all our sakes, and to make good their President's hard work at Versailles._

_And whilst President Wilson campaigns with Congress for his Just Peace, I began my campaign to save Downton. It took the form of a luncheon at Delmonico's with Uncle Harold. That in itself was quite the experience: an exquisitely presented meal in the middle of a rather large dining room, surrounded by many, many lavishly dressed and extremely talkative New Yorkers!_

_Uncle Harold is quite the character. He insisted on calling me 'my girl,' and, after listening to my proposal, he told me, in no uncertain terms that if I wished him to invest in Downton, that I must 'court' him as he would expect of any other business man seeking his investment._

_When I enquired as to the nature of this 'courting', he said merely, "you will join me for golf next Wednesday, and we will sail on the Chesapeake the following Saturday."_

_Thank goodness for Grandmama. When I recited this tale to her over our evening meal, she gave me a 'Granny' look (you know the type..) and said "Mary, my dear, he has set you a test. And we must ensure you do not fail!" She hastened to add that for me to have even got to this point boded well indeed, but I must confess to more than a little nervous anticipation: by the time I retired for the night she had organised me for golf instruction at Van Cortlandt Park (Tuesday morning Ladies apparently), and a private sailing lesson Thursday, followed by lunch with the wife of the Commodore at the New York Yacht Club!_

_Mama thinks it all highly amusing. I am not so sure. You know how little I care for ball sport of any kind, and the idea of spending hours on a rocking sailboat getting windblown and salt-sprayed doesn't excite me in the least (our trip across the Atlantic proved, I must reluctantly admit, just how poor a sailor I really am.)_

_Duty calls, however, so wish me luck my darling, and no doubt you will find out in my next letter just how well (or badly…) I have fared!_

_I miss you so terribly much,_

_All my love,_

_Your true Mary xxx_

_Post Script: Oh dear. This morning, at breakfast, Grandmama had Gilford, the butler bring me a copy each of the New York Times, Tribune and the Herald! She told me in no uncertain terms that I am to familiarise myself with the business news and the society columns as 'you must be prepared for any line of questioning from your dear Uncle,' And of course my unease as to exactly what 'test' I am to be put by Uncle Harold has greatly increased! 'What would Matthew expect?' I found myself asking, and there you were in my mind's eye, telling me to look upon this positively: 'Just imagine, Mary, an instance where YOU might be the one with the upper hand in a political debate with Sybil and Tom!' you smirked at me… and on that note I took a deep breath, poked my tongue out at the imaginary you, and started on the Times._

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_July 12 1919_

_Dear Mary,_

_I do hope you are enjoying your opportunity to explore a new place, and to spend some time with your Grandmama, whom I know despite her barbed tongue, does love and admire you deeply. My dearest daughter, as the days have passed since you and Mama departed, the enormity of the error of my ways makes itself more and more plain to see. I don't think I will ever forgive myself for the shame that I have brought on myself and you all, a situation I know that I, and I only, must try to fix._

_And so I do very much hope you will be at least a little pleased with your Papa when I tell you the efforts I am making, which saw me at the estate office every day this week! I don't think I've ever worked at a single task for such a sustained time. Such is the way of a gentleman of course. I am finding it quite a humbling experience, this small sense of life as a workingman that I am getting._

_Your Mr Cooke is a strange fellow all right… you had warned me! By about the second day I had realised I couldn't tip toe around him, and he think he is quietly relieved that I am brusque with him when I think he needs it. And of course his capacity at the job is excellent. So very different to dear Jarvis – his shortcomings are now most plain to see, even for your old fashioned father!_

_This week I realised we needed to make head way on a secretary for you – I don't have your administration prowess, and Mr Cooke would be capable of so much more with another pair of hands (literally), so Molesley suggested we give that chap he'd found a trial. I know you were nervous about him, and how Mr Cooke might find him, but he came in yesterday for the first time with Molesley staying with him for the morning until he settled in, and by day's end he'd actually got quite a few tasks furthered – including typing me a series of letters, all of which were accurate, and helping Mr Cooke with some filing. I asked Mr Cooke directly what he thought, and should we continue, and he said the chap, whilst he doesn't talk of course, had done the filing exactly as he asked and that he couldn't see why not. And so we will see the trial out a full month and then decide._

_The legal arrangements for you taking on the vicarage are almost complete, and the Harcourt family will have the place vacated by the end of August. Matthew telephoned the other day and said he had a second meeting with the architect you have engaged, and all going well, the plans should be completed about the same time. You never know, my dear. You might just see the alterations for your new home under way before summer is out!_

_Do write and tell me how things are progressing with your Uncle Harold. Your trusty maintenance crew have almost finished their inventory, and the details (and costs!) of the overdue maintenance alone do not make for easy reading._

_With best wishes,_

_Your loving Papa_

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_July 17 1919_

_Dear Mary,_

_It was wonderful to receive your letter and hear how much you are enjoying New York. I laughed when I read of Uncle Harold's 'test' and I look forward with interest your progress! Especially the golf… The thought of you dressed in ladies golfing garb, swinging a club… mmm 'tis most alluring!_

_Well, I've survived my first week and a bit of the rehabilitation programme at Shepherd's Bush. I say 'survived' because to be honest, it is more difficult than I ever imagined just being here. The sheer numbers of badly wounded men make what we are trying to do with our Trust seem like a tiny drop in the ocean, and it is hard not to despair. Thank goodness for Sybil. She has been my lifeline. She continues to remind me that one man rehabilitated and back to work means a whole family better off, and therefore every small effort counts. And she is right of course. But it is still hard to come back each day._

_In terms of what I am actually doing, well I'm not quite sure where to begin: the contrast with Downton is so startling! There are so many more therapists and all sorts of different approaches being tried. The ones I recognise, of course, are the massage, the exercise and the games, but they also offer hydrotherapy (no prizes for guessing that entails getting wet), and other forms I don't yet understand including mechanotherapy and electrotherapy, the names of which alone make me nervous. There is also a huge focus on vocational training for men whose wounds mean they must learn a trade different to that they had before._

_One of the outdoors activities, which Miss Haversham has prescribed me, is horse riding. I couldn't believe it when she rattled it off (one of a long list of activities I am to partake in over the coming months) but it is real, and apparently has quite significant therapeutic benefit. Although quite how a man with close to useless legs is supposed to firstly get on the beast and then secondly stay on it without being thrown off I have absolutely no idea. No doubt I will find out!_

_I have started off with the hydrotherapy – the hospital has a very large indoor swimming bath (with warm water thank goodness). The patients (and the therapists!) have to wear bathing costumes. So initially it felt very strange indeed with everybody dressed like you would expect for the seaside, and not a hospital on the edge of London! But I am already liking it: It is much easier to keep at an exercise without straining my back and shoulders, and whilst I've been very tired afterwards, there has been a lot less pain and it's been easier to sleep._

_So far I am managing to work a decent few hours each afternoon – the sessions take the whole morning and I have been having a rest after lunch, and then working through with Alex until dinner. So far, so good! It is a nice change to just have one project to focus on, and I am greatly enjoying working with Alex of course._

_My darling, I will sign off, as I need to sleep. But I will write again soon, and let you know how things progress. With all my love and many, many kisses,_

_Matthew_

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"How was your day?" Sybil linked her arm in Tom's as they reclined together on the settee in their modest living room.

"Vexing," Tom nuzzled her hair with his chin. "You know the peace celebrations most towns are planning? Evelyn gave me a call just before I had to go and told me there is a situation brewing at Luton between the council, and the local returned soldier's organisations. Sounds like they have been left out. I wasn't able to raise anyone on either side before I went," Tom sighed and straightened up. "Jonty will have to follow it up tonight. Evelyn said the local men think there will be trouble. A lot disillusioned men out there of course, with the mass unemployment."

"It's the scale, of the demobilisation isn't it?" Sybil commented. "Huge numbers involved. And so little proper planning! No wonder they are getting angry."

Tom nodded. "And to add insult to injury, it appears we also have out of touch local politicians in charge of important events like this!"

"And what about you?" he gazed at her a little concerned. "You seem very tired tonight."

"I am," Sybil admitted. "It's quite physical doing this work. And there is a lot to write up after the sessions finish! Especially when I'm reading the texts and trying to absorb the theory of it at the same time," she stretched her arms out and yawned.

"How is Matthew getting along?" Tom asked. "He's been at it over a week now, is it?"

"Well," Sybil glanced at him with a worried expression. "He's struggling to be honest."

"What with? The therapy?"

"No, well yes and no. The therapy is hard of course, but it was always going to be. No, it's more that he's struggling with just having to be there." Tom cocked his head at her and Sybil continued. "The first morning he very narrowly avoided a flashback. Something must have set him off. Perhaps a smell," she furrowed her brow. "Anyway, he managed to keep himself out of it, with the help of a wet cloth and me talking him through. This week he seemed to be finding it a little easier, but then this morning, we got half way down the corridor to the gym and he just stopped and said he couldn't go in!" she stopped talking and gave a heavy sigh.

"Why?" Tom looked disconcerted. "What did you do?"

"I took him to the chapel. Which was empty thank goodness." She paused again and Tom could see sadness in her eyes. "What was it?" he asked cautiously.

"He was upset about Alex. Apparently he has been struggling with terrible nightmares, and then last night," Sybil cleared her throat and said uncertainly, "he had such a bad nightmare he hit Clarissa."

"Badly?" Tom's eyes widened.

"Punched her in the face. Gave her a black eye."

"Oh God," Tom groaned.

"She woke Matthew up, completely beside herself. He went in, and he was able to wake Alex properly and calm him down. Said he spoke to him like he used to in the Army, and strange though that is, it worked. But Alex was inconsolable when he realised what he'd done to her."

"What about talking therapy? Is he doing that, like you had other men doing at the home?"

"He's been reluctant. There's still so many out there who think it's sissy, and that shell shock isn't real. Unfortunately including some other former officers he knows, and that's been putting him off. But he's promised Clarissa he's going to now. Matthew told me he said he can't live with himself after seeing her face. It's so awful Tom!" Sybil had tears in her eyes. "And what is so bad is that there are so many other men out there like this, and many other wives and families being affected. And no one's talking about it."

"Of course not," Tom said grimly. "We all want to forget. So people will just suffer on, in silence." He clasped her hand and tapped on it distractedly with his finger.

"And it's too much for Matthew, because it's happening to his oldest and closest friend," he said eventually.

Sybil nodded. "He told me he can't bear what's happening to Alex, after all of his effort and sacrifice in aid of the war," she explained. "And he's terrified Alex might do something stupid."

"And then he has to go into that hospital! Not like he can forget his own injuries either is it? Right in his face! And all those other fellows too," Tom said grimly.

"You know," Sybil spoke slowly. "I think that very thing, on top of Alex has triggered a whole lot of grief. And without Mary here to be his anchor, well…" Sybil's voice trailed off.

"I know he misses William," Tom remarked frowning.

"And William isn't the only one," Sybil replied heavily. "He was close to his first batman too, Davis, who was killed in front of him. And there was Jack Pearson of course, whom he also witnessed dying. And countless others he knew in his regiment."

Tom gave an involuntary shiver. "And I avoided it all. Bloody warfare," he scowled. "But when I see the harm it's done, and is still doing to such good men…" he shook his head. "I don't know whether to be thankful or guilty."

"Be thankful," Sybil said firmly. "Support the peace. And keep doing what you're doing with your journalism and speak out on behalf of the men who have come back."

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_27 July 1919_

_Mary my darling,_

_A quick note, as I have news! Well, it took till the beginning of the third week of the programme, but I've finally made a little progress again! In what, I am sure, will sound like a pathetically small victory to you, I can now take some weight on my good leg for a time without it immediately collapsing. Apparently that is significant, for Miss H got the doctor to come and observe me, and Miss H smiled, I swear for the first time since I got here! My modest achievement also earned me a bear hug from your darling sister (snatched when none of her colleagues were looking!)._

_Mother visited this weekend just gone, and it was wonderful to see her and give her a few treats! I took her to dinner at the Ritz, which we both thoroughly enjoyed, and we saw Madame Butterfly at Covent Garden. It was an extraordinarily good show, and one I don't think I will ever forget. I just wished you had been there to enjoy it with us. I do miss you so!_

_With all my love,_

_Matthew_

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_August 5 1919_

_My dearest Matthew,_

_A short note my darling, snatched whilst I wait for Uncle Harold to arrive and whisk me off to golf. I was so excited to hear of your progress. I marvel at your persistence and your effort, and know if I were you, I probably would have given up well before now. I am missing you as terribly as you are me, although I suspect your need of support right now is far greater than mine with all you are facing, and it pains me I am not there with you. And so I write this message to remind you just how much I cherish you! Nightly I lie awake and imagine you kissing me… and remembering our glorious lovemaking just before I came away. Thinking of your scent, your touch, and how safe I feel when I am in your arms. I have never missed anyone as acutely as I miss you now, in my entire life. And I am counting the days until we are together again, and I can kiss you deeply and madly until we are both quite breathless. You are so loving, and so beautiful both inside and out that I truly feel I am the most blessed woman in the whole world. And I look forward to hearing more about the opera. How marvellous that Isobel was able to see it too! And now I must away – I can see Uncle Harold's car drawing up outside. Wish me luck in swinging the golf club for what is now my third outing with my dear Uncle! Who knows, maybe I can repeat what I did last time… and in that complete fluke, beat him by a point. I smile every time I recall the priceless look on his face! I love you my darling, with so many kisses,_

_Your Mary_

_P.S On the subject of outings, we were hoping to see a Broadway show here this coming week, but there is a strike on! With the actors, stagehands and the musicians involved it's shut down the whole sector! Actor's Equity apparently. It seems to be quite serious and I suspect I will be on the ship home before it is resolved._

_x M_

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_August 7 1919_

_Dearest Mary,_

_I've been in York again. And I don't think I've ever seen Evelyn so angry. I'm not sure if it reached your newspapers over here, but we've had a riot. The Luton town council, in an act of breathtaking stupidity, not only left the soldiers' associations out of the local peace celebrations, but they also refused to let them use Wardown Park for a memorial service!_

_Unsurprisingly, given what else former soldiers and their families are facing right now, what were initially peaceful protests soon turned to a full on riot. It was very ugly all around, and the town hall was burned._

_Evelyn got hauled into it as he had been asked by the Discharged Soldiers and Sailors Association to intervene to try and get the decision on Wardown park reversed - one of the chaps knew he had connections with a councillor and the mayor. He did his best, including getting some publicity about it into the papers, but nothing he did swayed the councillors from their position on Wardown Park, and when it turned out like it did, well…._

_Anyway, he told me today he's going to become a lobbyist for the servicemen, and his father has even set up for him to have a meeting with General Haig, who as you know, is doing a lot of work in this area. And what's more, he told me intends to stand for Parliament at the next election. Discovering how out of touch the men involved in the Luton incident were, had really shocked him. "They just didn't get it," he kept saying to me. "Even the local Members of Parliament my father and I contacted! Absolutely no idea! No war experience. And you'd think they'd have the sense to recognise that and involve the servicemen, but no!"_

_So, there you have it. With him the man he is, a few years out, I'll bet you we'll see Hon Evelyn Napier being elected MP for Thirsk and Malton!_

_Just quickly, as Alex is back and we have some work to finish, when I was in York Brierly Groom set up a meeting for me with the builders they have recommended us. They seem a reliable firm, so I have asked them to provide a detailed quote for the building work. It's quite funny: Mother is terribly excited by it all. I think never in her wildest dreams did she imagine we would end up living so close, and Violet is pleased too. Don't be at all surprised, my darling, if when we are finally settled at the vicarage, that you find yourself inundated with frequent house calls from Mother and your Granny…_

_Much, much love_

_Your devoted Matthew_

0-0-0-0-0-0

"Matthew, you made it! We were beginning to wonder," Edward reached to pull one of the chairs out of the way so that Matthew could draw up to the small table where the other three were already seated in the cozy public house.

"Sorry Eddie. Alex and I were trying to finish a report. Keeping the client happy and all that." Matthew explained. "Well, well, this is a great surprise!" he greeted the other men. "Roy! And Alfred! Doesn't seem so long since we were together drinking like this in another pub does it?"

"Except that this time we can't afford to get quite so cut," Alfred smirked. "Well Roy, anyway. Eh Roy? You've got to drive me home."

"We'll see," Roy gave a rare smile. "It's summertime after all. We'd all survive a night in the gutter if we really had to."

The other three laughed, and they spent a very pleasant hour catching up.

"And tell us, Alfred," Edward gestured when they were all on their third glass. "What's the story with that girl of yours? You've news, haven't you?"

Alfred blushed a little. "Well… all right. Yes, we are getting married."

"Congratulations!" Edward and Matthew said together, and Alfred told them the story. "It was the third wedding we'd attended in the same number of weeks. Anyhow the last one was for one of Jean's best friends, and we were sitting around talking right at the end, most others having left, and she says to Jean, "_So what about you?"_ and Jean says back to her with a cheeky look at me, _"Well I'm still waiting to be asked!"_"

"So what did you do?" Eddie looked interested.

"Well, I couldn't not ask her after that, could I?" Alfred shook his head. "So I came out with it, right there! Don't think I ever would have, except we'd had quite a bit of champagne by then," he rolled his eyes. "Dutch courage and all that."

"And she said yes, clearly." Matthew remarked, his lips twitching.

"Did she ever! And kissed me in front of them," Alfred's neck reddened. "Never imagined she'd want it, not with me like this," his eyes darkened, "but turned out she did."

"Yeah, well it's not like there's lots of spare fellows out there, all walking around undamaged by the bloody war," Roy said offhandedly.

"Nope," Edward said with a far away look unconsciously touching the stump of his damaged arm. He took a deep breath. "Anyway, cheers old chap. Here's to you and Jean!" and the three of them lifted their glasses to Alfred. Twenty minutes later, a work colleague of Alfred's arrived, and he excused himself saying he wanted to grab the chance to talk with him about a work matter for a few moments. Roy disappeared to the bathroom, and whilst he was gone, Edward told Matthew he had had a letter from Mary.

"I asked her to send anything about the Carlisle situation direct to you," Matthew explained. "We're both terrified of the mail being intercepted, after what happened to Robert at Downton."

"Well, she did a good job of hiding who she was. It came from a Mr Joseph Levinson with a Connecticut address!" Eddie smirked. "Whatever she did to get the information, it's dynamite," Eddie's voice dropped. "She's obtained the various aliases Lord Doncourt been hiding his shareholding under, and also the name of a British bank. There's also evidence a few other nobs are involved, some other names and aliases too."

"Which bank is it?" Matthew asked intently.

"Lloyd's," Eddie said promptly.

"Where these chaps work!" Matthew gestured to Alfred and his work colleague, three tables away.

Edward looked shocked. "Don't ask me why I forgot that," he muttered. "Anyway, what do you want to do?" he asked in a low voice. "Turn the lot over to the Military Intelligence Service? Or are you going to engage in Carlisle's game? If it's as you suspect, and you're worried he'll break his promise and out Mary unless you give him some proof on these others," he frowned. "If you do the former, you'll lose the element of surprise, as I'll bet they'll get wind of it. If the latter, what do you think? Use Mr Braddock, your favourite double crossing PI and get a message to the crook himself? Trouble is, he'll probably have to do something on the edge legally, if he's to get the information out of Lloyds. And do you really want that on your conscience?"

"I honestly don't know," Matthew looked uncertain. "I don't want to engage directly with him, but... Give me some time to think on it. It might have to be Mary's call. And for now it's enough confirming Doncourt is the nasty piece of work we suspected he was. And in cahoots with Carlisle."

There was the sound of someone clearing their throat, and both of them started suddenly. Roy was back.

"Sorry chaps. Lawyer talk, was it?" he said resuming his seat.

"Sort of," Edward looked a little guilty, suddenly worried how much Roy might have heard. He was a nob himself, after all. But Roy gave no sign of appearing to have heard anything, so the three of them resumed their earlier conversation, joined shortly by Alfred once more, and it was another hour before they went their separate ways, vowing to make the catch up a regular event, whilst they were all together in London.

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_August 16 1919_

_Dearest Mary,_

_A quick note, as I need to sleep soon._

_Written mainly to 'acknowledge receipt…' E let me know of your L. Brilliant thank you… Anyhow, it was earlier this evening. When the two of us caught up with Alfred and Roy – do you remember them from the convalescent home? We met at the pub. The one just around the corner from the Shipton residence._

_Alfred is really happy – and he and his girlfriend are getting married in the Autumn. He almost can't quite believe it himself, from the looks, but it sounds like she is very clear about it, and I am so pleased._

_Roy is less so. He made an effort for all of us, of course, and he did admit he's enjoying his work at Lloyds, but he seems unhappy. He's so very bitter. Deeply melancholy. I feel really sorry for him. And poor Alex is continuing to suffer from disrupted sleep, and that really cuts me up. My darling, I used to think, it being 1919 and all, that we could properly forget the goddamn war, look forward, not back, but its dark tentacles continue to reach out and haunt too many friends. I don't like it. I don't like it at all. Oh how I could do with some of your lightness and joy right now! Missing you terribly much,_

_Matthew_

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_August 17 1919_

_Dear Mary,_

_How are you and Mama? I trust you are enjoying your trip and that the time away is helping her to heal. I am lucky in that no one here at the hospital has connected me with the gossip columns, and to be frank, I think there would be few here who would care: the vast majority of the staff are so dedicated to the world of medicine they don't look very far beyond it, if the tea room conversation is anything to go by. And besides. The focus on it is finally starting to wear off, so my loyal London friends in our circle tell me, Imogen Bellasis and her crowd reassure me of that anyway._

_I am so very happy being married! Tom is wonderful fun, and to go from seeing him so infrequently to now living with him is delightful. And because we are both women of experience now, I have no qualms in telling you that he is also a terrific lover. As no doubt your Matthew is, judging from the way you two always look at each other. I know the signs now! There, you have it. Some __risqué__ comments from your baby sister. I am laughing as I know I have probably made you blush! But truly, I am loving being married, and in fact everything about my life. There is such a sense of freedom in being 'Mrs Branson' when I am out and about in London, and I have greatly_ _enjoyed setting up our little home._

_You will be relieved to know I haven't totally abandoned my roots: I've hired one of the women in our building, a war widow with a baby called Ethel Parks, to prepare us meals and do a little housekeeping during the week. I am not the worlds greatest cook of course, and the study I am having to do to catch up is filling up almost all my spare time. And Tom's shift work makes regular meals difficult, even though he, himself can produce a few decent dishes. So with all of that, we both decided it far better we hire someone who could do with the wages to help. And it's become pretty clear very quickly that the work has been a life saver for her: when she got our first pay she was almost in tears. Seems our wages are meaning she can eat properly at long last, and buy coal for her stove. (She rents the tiny basement room in our building). It does concern me how our country runs, you know. A handful so terribly well off, and then so many, many, like this poor woman and her little child, who live hand to mouth._

_I am absolutely adoring my work. And learning so much. But, oh Mary! I despair of our poor education. I am really struggling trying to learn the Latin. The tutor I have is very encouraging, as is Tom (who knows it quite well himself), and of course church is helping. But it doesn't come easily. The mathematics is all right, I seem to pick that up fairly quickly. But I find the science tough too, and I am anxious about just how I will fare with the preparatory examinations. I really will have my work cut out if I am to pass._

_I got to visit Downton recently mid-week: Doctor Jones has asked that I work with Doctor Clarkson in writing up the trial results: he thinks it will help me when I am ready to apply to the University. And so I visited to interview Nurse Rose and the others who had helped me run it, along with a number of the men in the district that we had in the programme. It was lovely to be home, and I got to spend some time with Papa, which was very nice for both of us._

_Papa is missing Mama terribly, and he is full of remorse. I privately think that is a good thing, because until now I don't think he really understood just how terribly hurt she was by the whole affair. Anyway, he is grimly resolute and determined to restore the trust of the staff and villagers. I don't think I have ever seen him so purposeful with the staff, nor working so hard! I visited him at the land agent office and it was like seeing a different man behind the desk. He said he has written to Mama suggesting that when she is back they take a trip together. I think he wants some time, just the two of them, to reconcile. I do hope Mama agrees. But you will know better than I how she is feeling now._

_And lastly, I did want to tell you how Matthew is getting on, now that he's been with us five weeks now! To begin with it was not easy for him, not at all. He's probably told you in his letters: having to be here, surrounded by hundreds of badly wounded men has been very tough. Too many awful reminders I think._

_He's been smiling a lot more lately though. And you will smile too, when I tell you why. One of the programmes we offer is horse riding. And before you worry, I've learned that it's quite safe. It's a therapy they have been using here since early in the war and it is highly effective in helping patients regain their balance and build strength in muscles that otherwise are hard to exercise._

_It only took a few sessions for Matthew to start managing quite well. It helps that he could ride before of course. Once he was used to the special saddle and able to trust he wasn't going to fall off, he's was off and away! And this week I dragged Tom along to ride with him under the guise of 'volunteer helper' (he had the morning off), and that cheered Matthew enormously. In fact I had to chase the pair of them back to the stables, well past when we should have returned, they were so enjoying the ride in the sunshine and the chance to converse so much!_

_Matthew says you have 'passed the test' and that Uncle Harold has agreed to provide some capital! I must say that I won't believe it until you show me the written evidence, but I am very impressed all the same! You really are becoming quite the business woman. And if anyone is to save Downton for the future of course it will be you and your most darling and clever husband._

_With all my love,_

_Sybil._

_P.S. Has Edith written? We've had a lot of post cards. Cannes, Venice, Florence! She is having a wonderful time and Anthony continues to be well._

0-0-0-0-0-0

_August 27 1919_

_Dear Matthew_

_Saturday night I attended what was the most fantastical event I have ever been at in my life! A masquerade ball, held at the home of a very rich friend of Uncle Harold's, a Mr William Clark. Mr Clark is an extremely successful and flamboyant businessman with a substantial home on Fifth Avenue. Oh, my, it is impressive. 121 rooms, including four galleries! And the art makes Papa's collection pale into insignificance. There is even a private underground railway that brings coal to the house. I thought Uncle Harold was pulling my leg when he told me this, but he humoured me and I then got the private tour by the great man himself! Right in the middle of the ball! (Mr Clark was, I swear, the only person there NOT wearing a mask…)_

_I actually thought it was quite an elegant house, but Uncle Harold told me on the way home that many New Yorkers are scathing of its design, and it's been nicknamed 'Clark's Folly.' I am not so sure, having seen it shown off to its very best and coping easily with a large and energetic crowd._

_Back to what the ball was like: Whilst my mask was, one would say, modest, the masks of many of the other guests were absolutely not! And people are quite risqué with what they converse about when able to be a little anonymous. I heard some rather scandalous gossip from a number of random guests. And picked up a little more about you know what…._

_Oh, the entertainment! There were dancers festooned with tassels and, one must say, rather little else, and singers and jugglers and musicians of all colours, shapes and sizes. Jimmy Johnson, live on the piano would you believe? To my surprise I find I quite enjoy the jazz sound. It was wonderfully decadent and enjoyable, and I loved the dancing._

_Out of this event, and the others Grandmama has set up, for Mama and I, I have made some new friends. Women from some quite diverse backgrounds: it really is a more mobile society than ours, and quite refreshing and freeing as a result. One of the ladies I have befriended is running her own fashion house. Another's husband runs a retail chain, after starting out there twenty years ago as the lad in the mailroom! It is a fascinating, and quite inspiring story, how he went from there to company President, the title they seem to give their Chairmen here._

_Anyhow, I must away. A meeting this morning with Uncle Harold and his lawyers, hopefully to get the investment agreement signed! Wish me luck my darling,_

_With much love_

_Your Mary_

0-0-0-0-0-0

_September 11 1919_

_Dear Matthew,_

_A quick note as Anna needs my attention on our packing for the trip home, I wanted to tell you that yesterday we watched the parade for the return of the US Army Expeditionary Force. It was quite a spectacular sight, and the soldiers already home, including many of the wounded, lined the streets to greet them too. It was a party like atmosphere, and I don't think I've ever seen so many soldiers all at once. They are very proud indeed of their commander in chief, General Pershing, and there was huge applause when he addressed the crowd. And so it is with more regret than I ever could have expected that I am leaving this city. It has drawn me in, and I do hope to return here again sometime soon. Only the next time it must be with you my darling._

_With lots of love until we are reunited_

_Your Mary_

0-0-0-0-0-0

They must have arrived home only minutes before. Must have heard the cab draw up to the kerb, for as the driver opened the door for Mary and Cora to alight, the front door was flung open, and there were two men still clad in their coats silhouetted in the doorway, shouting excited greetings through the soft evening rain.

As Mary turned and walked quickly towards them, Matthew inhaled sharply: The water droplets in her hair caught the light, and she looked breathtaking, pink-cheeked and stylish in a fitted blue coat. And there was a softness and radiance to her that had him entranced. And then he knew, knew unmistakably and absolutely why, and tears of joy filled his eyes.

"Mary, my darling…" his voice trembled. "You… you're… are you…?" and he felt dizzy all of a sudden.

The huge smile on her face as she skipped up the steps said it all. "I knew you would know!" she whispered into his hair as she flung her arms tightly around him. "I knew you would!" she said again, kissing him and holding him even tighter. "Just over two months!"

A sob erupted from nowhere. "A baby?" Matthew choked. "We're actually going to have a baby! Oh my!" Matthew could not stop the tears coursing down his cheeks. His Mary was back. His gorgeous Mary! And she was carrying his child.

Mary drew back from him ever so slightly, fixing her eyes on his. "And my darling, am I dreaming?" she said a little tremulously. "This is really you?"

"Really me," he whispered back, and a fresh lot of tears began. "Kiss me. Properly. Then you will know that it is," and she kissed him, a long, deep and sensuous kiss, tasting his warmth and sweetness. She drew back again and studied him, a little overawed. Oh, it was her Matthew all right. This man who had the dimples back in his cheeks. Who looked strong and solid and so very well!

"It's the very best welcome home," her voice trembled with emotion. "The very best ever! Oh Matthew. I'm so happy for you. You did it! You really did!" And they gazed at each other, laughing and crying and exclaiming. For her Matthew, her beautiful clever Matthew was standing up.


	46. Chapter 46

A gust of wind sent a shower of raindrops across the gathering beneath the portico. "Oh dear. You must all come inside!" Clarissa urged, wiping rain off her forehead with the back of her hand. And continuing to talk nineteen to the dozen, they made the way indoors and towards the drawing room. Mary and Cora watched Matthew's progress with interest. He warned them "it's not pretty," as he set off, and it wasn't. His steps were slow and cautious and he leaned heavily on the crutches. But to Mary, none of that mattered. Matthew was on his feet, he was smiling, and she knew from something Sybil had read to her once, that just being able to stand would add significantly to his life expectancy. She reached for her mother's hand and squeezed it, and Cora gave her a nod and a smile in return. But when they finally reached the drawing room, where Giles and a footman were waiting with glasses of champagne, Mary was a little perturbed to see that her husband had begun to shake from the exertion.

Alex had noticed too, and coming beside him, he placed a steadying hand on his waist. "I've got you old chap," he murmured. "You're almost there!" And with an ease that told Mary he had done this before, he assisted him the last few steps to a comfortable looking armchair, and helped him sit down. He placed the crutches alongside within easy reach.

"Thanks," Matthew muttered and he leaned back and shut his eyes momentarily to catch his breath. When he opened them, Mary and Cora, who had taken seats opposite, were staring at him, both a little disquieted.

"Sorry," he gave an unexpected chuckle and he saw them visibly relax. "It's very early days. And that little show for you just now has well and truly finished me off!" He had truly overdone it. After a celebratory toast to the travellers and the expectant couple, Matthew told them how it was literally the first day the therapists had allowed him to use the crutches outside of the controlled environment of the hospital. "And at work this afternoon, there were a few, too many people coming to my office door demanding to see, because Alex, unfortunately, wouldn't keep his mouth shut," he gave his friend a lopsided grin.

"For God's sake, Crawley, it is a bit miraculous to see you on your feet," Alex snorted. "You've been pushing yourself beyond any reasonable limits for months now, and with the patience of a saint! None of it has come easy. And besides, you never blow your own trumpet. Someone has to do it for you."

"I agree," Clarissa raised her glass and waved it at Matthew, who, despite his protestations, could not take the smile off his face.

He explained to Mary and Cora how it had all come about. "I'd been practising with the crutches for a while, but it was very hit and miss. And then, probably just on a week ago, they finally got a solution that worked for my bad leg. The real progress happened quite quickly after that," and he caught Mary's eye and grinned at her, remembering the elation on her face when she had first seen him standing in the doorway.

Mary wanted to know more, wanted to ask him what they had done for his leg, to hear every detail of his therapy and recovery and what was next, but she sensed it was not the time. As was her husband's pattern when speaking of his condition in front of his mother-in-law, he was deliberately keeping the explanations light and upbeat. No. Best to find out more when the two of them were alone. And so she swallowed her impatience, and focused instead on the many other things they all had to share and catch up on.

The next few hours passed in a blur of laughter and intense conversation. Cora, with Mary adding in from time to time, extolled the virtues of shopping in New York, describing in some detail her experience of Lord &amp; Taylor, Bloomingdale's and Macy's, and the changes in the world of New York retail since she had been a girl.

Mary, for her part, described the nature of the investment deal she had negotiated with her Uncle, proudly explaining how she had convinced him to provide funds not only for the housing projects, but for some of the agricultural improvements they had also hoped to make.

"He's engaging a London firm, _Thomson Snell and Passmore_ to represent him this side. I expect we'll receive a note here seeking a meeting next week whilst I'm still here," she added.

Alex and Matthew both gave a start when she named the firm. "Who is the solicitor?" Matthew asked a little sharply.

"That I'm not sure of," she frowned. "Why?"

Alex chortled. "Your husband has an interesting collegial relationship with one of their best and brightest."

"'Competitive relationship' might be the more honest way of putting it!" Matthew rolled his eyes, but then he chuckled unexpectedly. "Don't mind me and my ego, dearest. This is actually very good news. The firm is well regarded, and having someone from there to provide a critical, questioning eye will only help Downton in the long term," he sighed and furrowed his brow. "And besides. We know already how few favours the place was done by Murray's softly softly approach."

"But you can't blame Murray," Mary said a little defensively. "Whilst I didn't see him in action much, every time I did it seemed to be Papa who never listened, or only got half the picture. Not Murray's advice per se!"

Matthew didn't respond: he saw Murray as a capable professional, but didn't see him as particularly sharp, nor visionary. _And Downton needs that, if it is to survive for another generation. And of course, now there is going to be another generation!_ he remembered with a wave of delight, and images of himself and Mary out on the estate playing with their children began to course through his mind. The others, meanwhile had continued to talk, and upon hearing the word 'Board,' Matthew snapped out of his reverie.

"What was that?" he asked, realising that in his daydreaming he'd missed something.

"Mary was explaining how one of the conditions of the agreement is establishment of a Board of Directors, comprising representatives of all the shareholders," Alex explained. "You, Anthony, Harold Levinson's appointee and Robert, in other words."

"Imminently sensible," Matthew said approvingly, and Mary continued her explanation. Of interest to both the men was that she had managed to get her Uncle's agreement that the Board also appoint an independent Chairman.

"How on earth did you bring that off?" Alex's mouth dropped open in admiration.

Mary sniggered. "I got myself my own attorney. An early question he put to me was the family dynamics. Let's say I didn't keep much back. And out of that he recommended that be one of my non-negotiables."

"And you clearly charmed Uncle Harold sufficiently for him to buy it!" Matthew exclaimed. "Despite him being the major shareholder by quite a margin!"

Mary smiled demurely. "Darling. Let's just say the charming I did was of a few of Uncle's more influential friends. Made sure they knew a little of the family situation and the personalities. How, perhaps I was a little worried, knowing Uncle's strong personality and my father's volatility, and did they think an independent Chairman would help? Uncle's decision, of course, then took care of itself."

"You. Are. Brilliant!" Matthew caught his wife's hand and pressed it between his. He felt a lump in his throat. He'd always known Mary had a lot to offer. Perhaps even from that disastrous first meeting, '_They'll push one of the daughters at me…'_ even now he felt the pang of guilt at his own arrogance at the time. He recalled the look of pride and hurt that had been on her beautiful face; how his heart had lurched at the reply that followed his lame attempt to explain himself: _"… I agree. The whole thing is a complete joke."_ And from that moment he had begun to see, to understand: she was a woman of vitality and intelligence trapped in a gilded prison, denied any plausible way out. An embittered young woman who had no hope. Who was tired and cynical well before her time. But then had come the war, and with it, the breaking of some of those invisible chains. The opportunity to contribute. And as she had spread her wings and shown the world what she was capable of, the wrongness of that gilded prison had become blindingly obvious.

He sighed and gazed at her steadily. He had a strange sense of a whole new world opening up. One in which Downton didn't just survive, but thrived. A future where there might well be other business interests too. Perhaps even funds sufficient that they might become philanthropists in their own right. And Mary was at the centre of it. He smiled to himself. Only moments before, he had been decrying George Murray for not having the intellect, nor the vision that Downton needed. _You're a fool sometimes Crawley,_ he told himself. Murray didn't need that! Because of course the vision and the intellect was already here, in his Mary.

Cocktails and _h'ors deuvres_ were being served when Giles announced the arrival of Lady Sybil and Mr Branson.

On hearing her sister was pregnant, Sybil gave a little shriek of excitement and she threw her arms around her. "What marvellous news! You are to be parents! Oh Mary!"

Mary lips twitched. "And you're going to be an Aunty. And I know already you'll be that indulgent, slightly naughty Aunty that will be off conspiring with the children when Matthew and I aren't looking!" Sybil's enthusiasm was such a tonic. Oh how she had missed that in her time away!

Sybil giggled, and turning to Matthew, she kissed him on both cheeks and stepped back, suddenly a little emotional. "Dearest Matthew. I'm so very happy for you! And to think…," her voice caught. "Oh, damn it. I don't want to cry! She clasped his hands in hers. "Because isn't it all so perfectly splendid! The very best week!"

"I can't say I've ever had a better one," Matthew said lightly, hoping his voice would not betray his emotions. "Not ever! And as for you, my dear," he gazed at her earnestly, "don't you ever forget how much you have helped to make it so," and the warmth and admiration in his eyes was such that Sybil uttered "oh, Matthew," and she began to cry.

"Blimey girl, give the poor man some space!" Tom said in mock horror, and despite herself, Sybil laughed through her tears, the others joining in and breaking the intensity of the moment.

As they continued to catch up on each others news, Clarissa asked Mary to tell her about the sailing she had done with her Uncle, having done a little herself with Alex during summers in the Lake District near his family estate. As she talked, the room fell silent: the men, as it turned out, were very interested too. And both Alex and Tom reacted when she said she had got to crew _Resolute_, the elegant racing yacht to which Uncle Harold was a syndicate owner along with four others from the New York Yacht Club.

"You got to race in THAT boat?" Tom was incredulous.

"What do you know of yachts?" Mary turned to him in surprise.

"You forget, m'Lady," Tom exaggerated his Irish lilt, "that I was raised at the seaside. It's a long story, but me and Kieran were taught to sail by Da's big boss at the railways." Everyone looked at Tom, including Sybil: discovering that Tom had sailed was news to them all.

"But how did you know about _Resolute_?" Mary pressed, still mystified.

"I've seen the yacht, _Shamrock IV,_ that is to challenge her in the America's Cup next year," Tom replied unexpectedly. "And on our honeymoon, there was an article about her in a sailing magazine at the house we were staying at. That was where I learned _Resolute_ was the challenger."

"Well, tell us what she was like!" Clarissa urged, impatient for Mary to continue the story. "Did you take the helm?"

Mary smiled. "I did. But I had to do the other jobs first. I didn't get much special treatment for being the only woman! I had to man the winches. Help trim the mainsail, and pack and unpack quite a few sails into the locker," she shook her head at the memory. "None of that was too bad. What I couldn't quite manage was unfurling the jib," she raised an eyebrow. "I had to pull so hard I was lifted off my feet!" the men looked impressed, and Alex and Tom immediately chimed in, reciting escapades of their own furling and unfurling in rough weather.

As they chattered, Cora took the opportunity to lean across and admonish her daughter. "You didn't tell me your Uncle had you doing the heavy work! A pregnant lady? For goodness sake!" she hissed.

"Mama," Mary's lips twitched, but she kept her voice deliberately low, causing Sybil and Clarissa to lean in too. "It wasn't quite that bad. I was well looked after! But please allow me the indulgence of pretending otherwise, just for once. It's so rare a lady gets the chance to impress the gentlemen present about a sporting pursuit!" and they all tittered.

Matthew wanted to know where it was that Tom had seen _Shamrock IV_.

"I was back home to visit Mam when she took ill that time, remember Sybil?" Tom glanced at his wife, who nodded. "1916. And _Shamrock IV_ just happened to be moored in the harbour overnight. I wouldn't have known if I hadn't run into Da's old boss, Mr O'Connor in the street. He was the one who taught us, you see. He invited me down so I got to see her. Turns out he knows Sir Thomas Lipton, her owner. I think through a sailing club he once belonged to."

"Mr O'Connor sounds a generous man," Alex commented.

"He was," Tom agreed. "Had no children of his own. Think he had wanted them, as he doted on his workers' kids. Generous with Christmas parties and all. Anyway, he took a shine to Kieran and me, and from when we could swim he'd take us out in his little sailing craft. Quite a few summers we did that," Tom's eyes shone as he remembered. "Some of my best childhood memories, being out under sail in that little boat."

"As were mine on Windemere," Alex observed, and then he turned to Clarissa with a mischievous look and said, "Remember, my darling, when I took you out for the first time?"

"Hah! You mean when you swamped us?" Clarissa began to laugh. "How could I ever forget!"

"I think it's wonderful you liked it so much," Matthew turned to Mary as Alex and Tom embarked on another lively exchange of sailing highlights and mishaps. "When you first mentioned the sailing in your letters you seemed convinced you would hate it!"

"I'm pleased to say I was wrong," Mary reflected. "The lessons certainly helped. Being out there just with women and having to take turns to do everything. I enjoyed it hugely! And then on _Resolute_, she is such a lovely craft, oh…" her voice trailed off. "As soon as the wind caught the sails and we were moving very, very fast I actually felt euphoric. This glorious speed, the air blasting our faces and no sound except for the slap of the yacht through the waves and the rustle of the sails." She paused and shook her head slightly. "It was like poetry in motion."

Matthew had been listening intently. "You really are remarkable, you know," his voice was a little husky. "Leaping at the chance to take up some new sports. Working out how to operate in the world of business and men, very successfully from the sounds, and coming back not only with your Uncle signed up, but tied into that demands for a structure that puts the whole thing on a far sounder footing than the past!"

"You were with me all the way," she whispered, taking his hands. "Every time I had a doubt… or I wasn't sure, I kept asking myself, _"What would Matthew advise?"_ and I could always hear you, clear as day. And that gave me confidence."

"Oh my darling," and Matthew pulled her close, blinking back unexpected tears. To have her back with him was indescribable. To have her warmth and love again - for real - and not just in his mind or in their letters - goodness, how he had missed her so!

Just before dinner was to be served, Giles returned to announce that Mrs Crawley had arrived and they all duly stood. Isobel saw Mary first and hurried to embrace her. Stepping back a little, she studied her face curiously. "My dear," she said cautiously, "you're not…?"

"I am," Mary whispered and her face broke into a huge smile as her mother-in-law gave a cry of delight and impulsively embraced her again. And it was then, when Isobel turned to look for Matthew, that the penny dropped: that the man standing between Mary and Cora was her son. She gasped and froze, and her face seemed to register a whole lifetime of emotions. She swayed a little, and stepped towards him a little shakily.

"If it's not enough to hear I am to have a grandchild!" she choked, "But to see on this same night that you are standing, my darling boy," Isobel's voice caught. "Oh my goodness!" she couldn't stop the sob, and a little awkwardly thanks to the crutches, Matthew put an arm around his mother as best he could and pressed his chin into her hair.

"My sweet mother," he murmured. "Much as I often doubt God, unlike you, it does seem this is God's work: to allow such happiness! Me, I still don't think I deserve it. Not if He witnessed the horrors I inflicted on others in the war," he shivered. "But you dear mother, you and my darling wife? You deserve this. So very much! And that makes me a happy man indeed."

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**Authors Note: **

As with all the chapters there's a core of true history &amp; some threads from the canon, with a bit of writer's license around the edges, so yes, Resolute did exist, as did Shamrock IV... (Resolute bet Shamrock IV in the Cup the year following) and later in Resolute's life there was a woman sailor of note... so nice to provide this twist for Mary in the story here.

And thanks again to all of you who take the time to review. I really appreciate it.


	47. Chapter 47

"Who won the wager?" Mary asked as she watched her husband comb his thick blond hair. It was Sunday morning and they were readying themselves for the walk to St Michael's church.

"Evelyn," Matthew replied, looking at her in the reflection from the mirror. "By a week!"

"And have you paid up?" Mary's lips twitched.

"Well, I've made the booking. It's a month away. And to be frank, I'm glad he won. He deserves it with all he's been through. And he's insisting we join them for dinner there on the Saturday night. Evelyn said it was only fair given how close it was in the end."

"What a lovely idea. I've missed him and Sarah-Jane very much," Mary replied a little wistfully. "And how is he? Really?"

"Much, much better. His recovery after the final operation went a lot faster than they expected. The grafts have taken and the wound is almost completely healed now, although it will be a while before they risk trying him with a prosthesis again." His hair now finished, Matthew spun his chair around to face her. "He may be discharged as early as next week. From recollection his doctor is assessing him Wednesday to make the decision."

"So a faster recovery this time," Mary commented. "I wonder how much that is to do with being married," she smiled. "It does seem the very best medicine."

"Well, speaking from personal experience," Matthew's voice dropped and he wheeled himself towards her, "I'd have to agree." He pulled her into his lap and kissed her.

"You'll make me untidy," Mary protested smiling.

"Good." Matthew's eyes were brimming with mischief, and he kissed her again, even more sensuously this time, and with a little gasp, Mary succumbed and kissed him back. The chiming of the clock a few minutes later startled them both, and Mary scrambled off his lap. "Look at the time! The others will be waiting," she fussed and peered at herself in the mirror. "Oh my goodness! You have mussed my hair," she said ruefully, trying to pat it down.

"Wear a hat," Matthew said irreverently.

Mary raised an eyebrow at him. "You given me no other choice," she smirked, and she jauntily donned the stylish blue cloche hat she had fully intended to wear anyway. "Satisfied?"

"Perfect," Matthew gave a sigh of pleasure, elated for the umpteenth time that she was home. "You have no idea how wonderful it is to have you with me again my darling. You really don't."

"It's nice to be back," Mary murmured and she kissed him on the forehead. "Especially with you," and she kissed him again, before picking up her coat.

"We'd better go," she said a little reluctantly, wishing instead that she and Matthew could return to the bed they had vacated only a few hours before so that she could continue to ravish the man she had missed so acutely in the previous two months. She opened the door for her husband and they hurried to the foyer where the Shiptons, Cora and Isobel were already waiting.

It was a pleasant service, and afterwards, Mary caught up briefly with the Bellasis sisters, who were in London for the weekend visiting their Aunt, also a resident of Chester Square. They were keen to hear all about New York, and had it not been for their elderly Aunt's impatience to leave, Mary was sure she and Matthew would have been waylaid for quite some time. They parted, agreeing to organise a time to catch up properly, and Matthew and Mary made their escape to Green Park. The Shiptons had to return home as they were taking Clarissa's mother out for luncheon, and knowing the young couple needed some time alone, Cora and Isobel returned with them. In a week Mary would have to return to Downton and her work and they would be separated again.

As they walked, Matthew explained a bit more about his rehabilitation. Mary already knew about the brace he had to wear: necessary as he had not regained any function at all in his lower left leg. "It allows me to walk without dragging my foot," he had explained to Mary, when she had watched Barrow fitting it for him that morning. Made of leather and steel, it fitted below his knee and fastened onto his shoe, unnoticeable beneath his trousers.

Getting the right solution had taken quite some time, he told her now. At first the therapists had tried more specific exercises, including electro-therapy for the leg. "Not pleasant, and a complete failure," Matthew rolled his eyes. "Then they decided a brace was required. But the first few they fashioned for me didn't fit well. I ended up with blistered skin. Barrow was furious."

"Well, he would be!" Mary retorted. "He's been so vigilant you haven't had any issues at all with your skin since he's been your valet."

"That's right. And you were all pretty good looking after me on that front before him. I think that's what annoyed him so much. For a hospital to cause such an injury," he shook his head and sighed. "Anyway. It's been a process of trial and error. I'm sort of glad you weren't here. I haven't always been in the nicest temper! Much better that you are back to see the good result."

"I feel a little remiss I wasn't around to at least offer you some moral support," Mary responded. "Being your wife and all! But…" she shrugged. She knew what she had opened up for Downton by travelling to New York was huge, presuming all the shareholders agreed of course. And she knew how much her doing that had meant to her husband. And whilst he, like her, had missed just being together, he would never have countenanced her being heavily involved in his rehabilitation in any case. Before they had married he had made it clear he wanted her to be his wife, not his nurse. And she had agreed.

"And what happens next?" Mary asked cautiously as they finally reached the entrance to the park.

Matthew contemplated her question. "Well," he began, as they went through the entrance gates, "the immediate focus is to improve my balance and strength so that I can last on my feet for longer.

"If my balance improves enough for me to cope with uneven ground, they will let me try walking out of doors. And if I get stronger I might be able to get off the crutches. Perhaps get by with sticks."

"Why is the balance difficult?" Mary frowned. "Your head wasn't injured."

"Trying to balance when you can't properly feel your legs is very strange," he told her. "I think it must confuse the nerve signals or something. It's a bit of a mind game," he raised his eyebrows. "If I get distracted I can fall over."

"Oh," Mary replied. "I hadn't thought about that. I guess if I couldn't feel my feet…" she tried to imagine what it would be like.

"Will that improve? Or is it something you'll have to live with?"

Matthew shook his head. "I don't know. The medics won't say," he gave a heavy sigh. "I'm a bit of an experiment to them, you know. Me and the other chaps with similar injuries! There's so much variation between us they struggle to give us any certainty at all." There was a note of resignation in his voice.

"Well, it's amazing how far you have got already," Mary said, immediately wanting to reassure him. "Honestly," she gave his shoulder a squeeze as they continued. "You made huge progress in the time I was away!"

"Perhaps," Matthew said, before lapsing back into silence. What he still couldn't bring himself to say was that it was unlikely he would ever walk unassisted. And Mary, if indeed she had surmised that already, instinctively knew that now was not the time to press him on the topic any further.

Mary looked about eagerly as they got deeper into the park, appreciating the familiarity. It was a moody, still autumn day, and one or two of the trees were starting to turn. Drifts of asters, coneflowers, and red-hot poker splashed warmth and colour into the sunless morning.

"I've missed England," she remarked, glancing sideways at Matthew.

"Really?" he chuckled. "Missed the grey and the damp?"

"Strangely enough, yes," Mary admitted. "Although I did enjoy the heat initially when I was in New York. The novelty of it, I think." They reached an intersection in the path, and Matthew gestured to the left. "This way is prettier." A little while on, they came upon a park bench nicely placed for the view across the lawns and borders. Mary paused. The bench looked inviting. "How about we stop for a bit?" She sat down and Matthew positioned his chair alongside. He looked at her, frowning a little. "I'd like to sit next to you," he stated. "May I borrow your arm?"

"Of course," Mary said. She stood up feeling pleased: something else he could now do. With her arm for support, he got himself upright and across to the bench and she helped him to sit down and then resumed her own seat.

"Well," he smiled and looked around when he was settled. "This is nice."

"It most certainly is," she answered softly, and they gazed across the well-kept flowerbeds and manicured lawns. He put his arm along the back of the bench and she leaned back against it, enjoying his proximity.

"When exactly did we do this last?" she murmured, putting her hand on his knee. "Sit companionably on a bench together?"

"You know. I do believe it was 1914," he reflected, placing his free hand atop hers. "A life time ago. And later that year leaving for the war…" he paused. "Well, I would never have dreamed this day would come, put it that way!"

"Neither would I," Mary's voice sounded far away for a minute. "And yet here we are," she flashed him a loving glance.

"Us and our child to be," Matthew's voice was husky. He moved his hand gently to rest on her stomach.

"Mmm," she said with a blissful sigh. And there, in that fragrant autumn garden they shared a few precious moments of total and utter contentment.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Edith and Anthony arrived back from France on Tuesday afternoon, and that evening Barrow drove them and Cora to Grantham House to join the Strallans for dinner. They were thrilled, and also somewhat amazed to hear of Mary's pregnancy, and to see Matthew walking with the crutches.

Edith had tears in her eyes. "To think back to this time last year my dear brother-in-law. None of this possible! And now. Who could have imagined!" she hugged him again. "Matthew, oh both of you, this is such wonderful, wonderful news!"

And at dinner, the Strallans made their own joyous announcement: Edith too was pregnant. Anthony, who looked very well after the long holiday abroad, was clearly elated at the prospect of becoming a father for the first time. "Maud and I were never able to have a baby," he turned and explained sadly to Matthew, as Cora held court with her daughters on the topic of pregnancy and what a woman should expect. "It was a source of constant grief," he continued. "Right until she died."

Matthew knew little of Maud, and so he asked Anthony about her. As the man spoke, it became clear that she and Edith were quite similar: in them both Anthony had found an intellectual equal, and a partner that also shared his interest in farming.

"She wrote too," he added. "As Edith does! In fact I've shown Edith some of her work. She's encouraging me to send one or two of the pieces to The Sketch. Vignettes on country life. My favourite is a poem about the autumn harvest. Edith seems to think it would capture the imagination of that editor she deals with there, Michael Gregson."

"I hope I can get to read it sometime," Matthew replied, touched that Edith was taking an interest in Anthony's late wife. "Whether or not it is deemed fit for The Sketch!" The older man smiled. _He brings out the best in Edith._ Matthew thought, _the kinder more thoughtful side. They do make a fine match._ Indeed, Edith, when she was loved and admired, was quite transformed.

Dispensing with the usual formalities after dinner, the five of them gathered in the drawing room where Mary took the opportunity to describe the Levinson investment proposal. Matthew could see that Anthony was quietly impressed with what she had negotiated. Mary had done a thorough job in ensuring the minor shareholders' interests, namely his and Anthony's, were properly represented in what she had hammered out with her Uncle. _That just leaves Robert to agree,_ he thought. He was reasonably hopeful that he would: having witnessed him grappling with the land agent role in Mary's absence he had seen the man forced to confront quite a few uncomfortable realities that Jarvis, in the past, would have kept from him. Harry Cooke's blunt no-holds-barred approach on what the maintenance work was showing up had helped, and a part of Matthew was pleased Mr Cooke had been the messenger, and not his wife. _He's had to accept what he's been told. And not do as he sometimes does under pressure: think that Mary and I are ganging up against him!_

Edith, for her part, was at a loss for words. Observing her sister that evening, she would comment later to Anthony, was like watching a completely different person. "She's becoming a real business woman," Edith shook her head. "Totally at home with all those figures! Clear about what is needed. And understanding of the many risks! No wonder she spent so many years resenting Patrick and hating Papa for favouring him," Edith mused. "Much as I admired our late cousin, it's safe to say he never had the intellect, nor the drive to envision, let alone negotiate something like this."

Returning to Chester Square later that evening in the motor, Cora announced that she had received a note from Robert saying he wished to take her to Paris for a month's holiday. Robert was arriving on the morrow for the meeting about the Levinson investment proposal, and he had asked that she give him an answer then.

"How lovely!" Matthew commented without thinking.

"You think I should go?" Cora turned to him looking uncertain.

Matthew was surprised: his mother-in-law seeking his counsel on such a delicate matter! He was about to say, "Well, of course!" but stopped himself just in time. This was a matter between Cora and her husband: it was not a matter upon which he should proffer advice. Mary, too, was surprised by her hesitation. "Mama," she asked gently. "What is it?"

"I… well. I would like to. I am ready. I'm just not sure whether Robert is."

"Oh," Mary and Matthew both said together. Mary smiled. "Mama. The decision is yours. But I can tell you that Papa spoke of his remorse over the whole affair not once, but several times in his letters to me while we were away."

"And Matthew?" Cora pressed. "What do you think?"

Surprised again to be asked, Matthew said carefully, "If you are ready Cora, then go. On Robert's readiness, I am not in a position to say. It is not…" he cleared his throat awkwardly. "Well, we haven't ever talked of it. But what I can tell you is that he has missed you terribly," he finished earnestly.

Cora nodded slowly. "Thank you," and she turned back to face the front, lost in thought. Mary and Matthew raised eyes at each other, and then they too, sat back, and the three of them were silent for the remainder of the journey.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Crawley family annals of the generations to come would mark Wednesday September 24 1919 as a turning point. To Matthew's relief, Uncle Harold's appointee turned out to be Mr Donald Watson, Arthur Farnham's boss. After a long, and at times terse meeting, the agreement securing the cornerstone Levinson investment was signed on terms acceptable to all of the shareholders. The agreement included a process through which to seek and appoint an independent Chairman, and Mary was confirmed as Land Agent. An expanded budget was approved for her office, including a salary at last. And just before they parted after the meeting, Robert took Matthew aside and said, "I don't know what you and Mary said to Cora, but I wanted to thank you," he smiled. "She's agreed to come with me to Paris. We sail next week," and for the first time in months Robert's eyes had their old sparkle back.

"What a day!" Matthew sighed after Barrow had helped him into the car alongside his wife.

"I am exhausted," Mary admitted, and although she didn't voice it out loud, she was feeling nauseous. The morning sickness, which had started to make itself felt on the journey home, was now upon her with a vengeance.

"You did very well," Matthew took Mary's hand and began to trace circles on it. "Kept your cool. Explained things clearly. And that last set of reports Robert tabled from Harry Cooke was enormously helpful. I had to pinch myself a few times and remember the enterprise we were talking about was Downton!"

Mary nodded. "It felt so very different. We had real information to help our decisions. And we now have a proper shareholder agreement. And with Papa being just one of many, there's no room for him to throw his toys about!" Mary's lips twitched.

"He wouldn't have dared in front of Mr Watson," Matthew chuckled. "He's a pretty formidable character. Your Uncle knew what he was doing when he got that firm on board! And speaking as one of the two minor shareholders, I'm glad of it. And Anthony said as much when we broke for afternoon tea."

"And now what is left is for us, and me in particular, to make it all happen!" Mary's voice betrayed how overwhelmed she suddenly felt. "We've got to appoint someone to oversee the changes to the farms," she began, thinking aloud. "And we'll need to commission the plans for the housing improvements. And I have to sort out if Mr Brougham can oversee all of that, or whether I'll need someone else." She swallowed, grimacing at the metallic taste in her mouth. "And it all needs to happen soon before pregnancy starts to get the better of me," she leaned her head on Matthew's shoulder, wishing the journey to be over so that she could lie down.

"Darling, you don't need to do it all at once," Matthew reassured her, picking up that not only was she feeling overwhelmed, but that she was also a little ill. "It's a lifetime's work! And the first step is a realistic plan. But let's not talk any more of it now. Rest tonight. Tomorrow is another day."

0-0-0-0-0-0

On Friday, Mary again accompanied Matthew to Shepherd's Bush. She had done so earlier in the week and observed his hydrotherapy session, for which she had been granted special permission from Miss Haversham after Sybil had explained she had served as a VAD. The first session on the Friday was in the gymnasium, using some rather elaborate equipment, the likes of which Mary had never seen before. And after morning tea, she accompanied Matthew and four other patients and their assistants to the stables for what was termed 'therapeutic horse riding.' Mary had with her a new set of riding clothes: whilst in New York her Grandmama had encouraged her to try riding astride.

"It's so much safer than side saddle," she had urged. "You are an accomplished horsewoman, and a lot of the keen women riders here are taking it up." And once again, with the freedom New York offered to try new things, she had decided to give it a go. To her surprise, she found that her Grandmama was right. It took very little time to become accustomed to the new position. And she relished having so much more control. But here, back in England, she felt suddenly shy, and she was a little worried what Matthew would say when she followed the two lady assistants out of the changing room, dressed in her black boots, breeches and a fitted black riding jacket.

"Ohh!" Matthew's eyes grew round, and his face broke into a smile. "I've read about the modern ladies donning breeches and choosing to ride astride. And here you are!"

"Grandmama bought me the outfit. Believe it or not," she smirked, pleased at his reaction. "And I can't wait for the chance to tell Granny. I want to see the look on her face," and Matthew laughed.

With everyone now in riding clothes, the group proceeded to the yard, Matthew telling Mary about the horses as they went. "They are mostly geldings and mares, he explained. "My horse is Sally," he gave his wife a wry grin. "She's an elderly grey mare with a delightful white splotch around one eye. Very sedate. The sort of horse that would probably drive you mad!"

Mary giggled. "Perhaps. But if I had your condition, I'm sure I'd be seeking out a beast a lot less spirited than my Diamond!"

"You most certainly would be," Matthew conceded. "I was mightily relieved when I found out that all the horses here are specially chosen for their even temperaments."

Mary was intrigued by the set up in the yards. The mounting block was built a little higher than the one they had at home, and it was a more substantial structure. There was a ramp at one end, steps the other, and hand rails, strategically placed. And she was more than a little impressed to see the ease with which the set up enabled the patients to be placed on their mounts. Of the group there that morning, Matthew was the most able, and so he waited back until the assistants had the other riders saddled up and on their way, before positioning his chair at the bottom of the steps and standing up. Using the rails for support he took the steps one at a time to the top, and once there, to Mary's amazement, he was able to transfer himself into the saddle with only a little help from his assistant.

_Lynch could have something like this built for us at home,_ Mary realised, and she felt suddenly excited: he would be able to ride with her. Inspect the farms on the estate. Perhaps even join in this year's hunt! If he wished of course: she was acutely aware her former soldier-husband might find the idea of returning to a sport involving firearms abhorrent. But best of all was that he would be able to ride with their future children, and that delightful thought made her very happy indeed.

Matthew had gently nudged his horse off, and he was now walking the placid grey mare around the yard. The stable hand returned leading a horse for Mary, and she quickly mounted and caught up with her husband.

"What do you think?" He grinned across at Mary as her horse drew alongside his.

"It's marvellous!" her tone was effusive, and Matthew's grin widened. "Follow me," and he led her out of the yard and onto the bridle path.

They didn't talk much. Where the path was wide enough, they rode side by side, Matthew pointing out the occasional landmark; the spot near the brook he had seen a deer; a clearing from where they got a good view out towards Wormwood Scrubs. Every now and again she stole a glance at him, fascinated. He was relaxed, and, she realised, greatly enjoying himself. She observed that, if anything, his riding was as good as it had ever been: his balance was excellent and he moved as one with the horse. And she could see how much he loved it, being out in the fresh air, appreciating the sun-dappled leaves as they passed through copses of trees, and the exhilaration when they jumped a puddle or a small ditch.

"I, for one, would never have believed we could have this," Mary said finally. "To be able to ride together. Something we can both enjoy. Something our children can enjoy," she paused. "It feels.."

"almost normal?" Matthew finished for her.

She nodded. "Yes! I mean you're riding just like you always did… perhaps even liking it more, am I right? You look so at home on the horse!" she gazed across at him smiling.

"I am enjoying it. Very much," Matthew said softly. "It has really helped building up my strength too, in fact Miss H thinks it's the therapy that for me has made the biggest difference. And I really like that it feels normal, although I can tell you now I won't be following you leaping over any high fences!"

"You didn't like to do that before either!" Mary began to laugh.

"That is true," Matthew grinned. They rode on a little, and the clip clop of the horses' hooves became muffled as they entered a shady copse and the ground softened under foot. "The other thing I can do that feels like normal is swim," Matthew continued. "Sometimes at the end of the hydrotherapy they've let us do a few lengths when there haven't been other patients."

"Oh?" Mary looked at him. "Did you learn to swim as a child? We did a little in the lake, and at Scarborough of course, but I can't say I'm very good at it."

"Father taught me," Matthew explained. "He grew up in Southport. And in the summer in the years he worked at the hospital, he would take us back there for little holidays when his shifts allowed. So that was where I learned."

"Have you ever swum in our lake at home?" Mary asked suddenly. Matthew shook his head. Never. But who knows," he shrugged. "Next summer?" he cocked his head at her.

"And I'll be watching. With our little one," and Mary caught his eye and they gazed at each other in unabashed delight.

0-0-0-0-0-0

She met Edward for lunch at the hotel near the hospital in Shepherd's Bush: the same one they had stayed at when Matthew had first seen Doctor Jones, in what now seemed a lifetime ago. She was alone: Barrow had taken Matthew home to rest.

After passing on the last lot of information she had gathered before returning home on Lord Doncourt's dubious business activities, she asked Edward what he thought it all meant.

"Some of it is definitely illegal. And some, well…" his voice trailed off and he looked at her, frowning, across the table.

"Did you ever see George Bernard Shaw's play _Major Barbara_?" he asked at last.

Mary shook her head. "I remember a review of it in _The Daily Telegraph_, years ago," she mused. "But I never watched it," she sighed. "Mine was not a very intellectual upbringing I'm sorry."

Edward gave a brief smile. "It was put on at Oxford. Funny, you know. What he says… it's all come true. At least that's what I think." He looked at her again, and then, as if in some trance, he recited a passage from it word for word. And it left Mary stunned. And unexpectedly angry. She cleared her throat and said tightly, "I'd like to make them pay."

Edward's head snapped up. "You do?" His eyes widened.

She nodded. "None of these men fought. Many kept their own people from combat through dubious means. And yet they worked together, cynically, to try and prolong the conflict. And from what we can see here this lot went the next step. Treason. This is what we're seeing. I'm right am I not?" her voice was trembling now.

Edward nodded slowly. "It's certainly looks that way." He took a deep breath. "But are you sure? This could end up with a lot of trouble for you. These people have tentacles everywhere. Things might happen…" his voice trailed off, and he ran his hand distractedly through his dark hair.

"What? You mean I might find we're not invited some places?" Mary said drily. "I couldn't give a toss. And Matthew, bless him, wouldn't even notice. If he had his way, we'd never spend any time at season events. He finds it all extremely tiresome."

"Well, no… it's…" Edward cleared his throat. "… Worse things. Matthew's firm shut out of opportunities. Rumours. Talk," he hesitated. "May be even threats."

Mary stiffened. "You can't be serious." It was a question more than a statement.

Edward's face told her he was.

"Oh." He watched her deflate.

After what seemed an age, she lifted her eyes to him once more. "Well, what can we do? I hate to think of him, them, getting away with this. I mean, you all and what you have suffered… so many… and that hospital," she shuddered and Edward flinched. Whilst the millions of civilians were trying to forget, there were the millions of former soldiers that never could. And of them, a particular group trapped in their own peculiar kind of living hell. The 'patient' patients that formed the ranks of the severely wounded he knew Mary was referring to. He felt a familiar wave of bitterness and set his jaw.

"I think," said Edward slowly, "that you must talk to Matthew. Talk again about just how far you want to go," he leaned forward looking serious. "If you do wish to continue, you need to do it in a way that can never be linked to you," he paused. "I wonder, for instance, if that associate your Uncle has here could provide the means?" he frowned and then shook his head. "But I doubt it. He, like pretty much anyone else in this town will be compromised through a connection somewhere along the way! That is what makes it all so risky."

Much as it was always a pleasure to spend time with Eddie, the subject of their discussion left Mary with a sour taste. She hated that it was some of 'her lot,' who had been so complicit in this aiding and abetting of the continuation of the conflict; and that profits had so blatantly been put ahead of human lives.

_And of course it has always been so,_ she told herself. _Perhaps you pretended you couldn't see it before. But now you have known Richard. Witnessed his dealings and actions. Been a nurse in a brutal war. Allowed, just a little, of your sister and brother-in-law's tirades to 'get in,' and more than anything as Matthew's wife you have had encouragement and license to read and learn and argue – and to see the truth of things! No, Mary. Much as you might wish it, you cannot un-see this._

As the cab returned her through the streets to Chester Square, she felt nauseous, and she knew it wasn't her morning sickness. The words from Shaw's Major Barbara Eddie had so eloquently recited played over and over in her head:

_"The Government of your country! I am the Government of your country, I, and Lazarus. Do you suppose that you and half a dozen amateurs like you, sitting in a row in that foolish gabble shop, govern Undershaft and Lazarus'? No, my friend, you will do what pays us. You will make war when it suits us and keep peace when it doesn't. . . . And in return you shall have the support of my newspapers, and the delight of imagining that you are a great statesman."_

0-0-0-0-0-0

On Saturday evening, Aunt Rosamund held a cocktail party in the family's honour at her home in Belgrave Square. Rosamund, with a little aiding and abetting from Violet, and it transpired later, Shrimpie, had determined London society was best silenced once and for all on the matter of the supposed scandal by lavishing upon them all an unforgettable night the centre of which was Robert and Cora and the extended Crawley family.

Unforgettable was probably too tame a word to describe that night, the Crawley girls and their respective husbands would reflect a little amusedly later. Whilst the evening did the trick, showing the extended Crawley clan up as models of decency and decorum, it would be a while before some in Lady Rosamund Painswick's circle forgave her for the opprobrium brought upon their husbands that night.

Rosamund had organised for an ensemble from the Dixieland jazz band to provide live entertainment, and more than a few guests were unable to hide their shocked expressions when they saw the black players and their gleaming instruments for the first time.

"Well, this is a surprise," Cora had murmured to Mary and Edith when they had seen the musicians arrive. "Rosamund engaging some of the Dixieland Jazz players at her very own house party? Who would ever have imagined?"

"Come now, Mama," Mary chided. "It was you who extolled the virtues of the jazz sound to her in your letters home. She would have felt the need to keep up! And besides: Aunt Rosamund has always been adventurous where music is concerned."

"Until now she's really only followed opera. And the symphony a little. Hardly adventurous," Cora sniffed. "But yes, if this effort she has gone to silences the wolves once and for all then I, for one, will be most grateful."

The jaunty music, exotic cocktails and delicious _hors d'oeuvres_ created a certain energy among the many guests, and before long the lavish reception rooms of 35 Belgrave Square were reverberating with loud conversation between friends, old and new.

Sybil drifted from group to group, chattering easily to the various guests, taking great delight, Mary observed with a mixture of admiration and disapproval, in explaining how she was both working AND married, and what, pray tell, did Lord or Lady so and so think of Millicent Fawcett's campaign for equal pay for equal work?

Tom, looking disarmingly handsome in black tie (he had refused to wear tails) proved a hit with Sybil's women friends, including the Bellasis sisters. He had his work cut out with the menfolk however, a number of whom, on discovering just which paper he was a political journalist for, took him to task over the socialists, the unionists, and the latest developments in Ireland.

Mary found herself alongside Anthony and Edith for quite a while. Anthony took it upon himself to introduce her to those he knew to be farming their estates successfully, and for that she was most grateful. It was obvious already just what an ally the Strallans would be in the efforts to turn around the Downton farms. Later, Clarissa introduced her to some old friends of her parents who were successful in property, and that, too, proved enormously helpful. Weary, and starting to feel a little morning sick again (she had noticed with a little irony that despite the name, it was mid evening when she had it worst) she went in search of Matthew.

Matthew had lasted upright for quite a while, deliberately seeking out a number of Robert's business associates to whom he introduced Alex: the pair of them were on a mission to promote the work of their firm and its merger specialisation among the well to do with industry connections. After conceding defeat, aware that if he didn't sit he would fall, he had taken a seat on the sofa in a quiet corner of the drawing room, and it was there that Mary found him with Alex enjoying yet another exotic looking cocktail.

She sat down and joined them, grateful for the chance to get off her feet. Whilst they were talking, they heard a sudden commotion from the foyer, and looking up, they saw a big group of daringly dressed young women entering, one of which was Cousin Rose. A slightly harassed older looking woman with them appeared to be their nominal chaperone (they found out later that she was the spinster Aunt of one of them, reluctantly cajoled into accompanying them for the night.) To the shock of more than a few of the society matrons present, some of the girls were smoking, and others were heavily made-up. A ripple went around the room, and then, as the dancing started, spearheaded by the young women, the atmosphere became electric.

"Do you know," Mary had to almost shout to be heard over the band and the excited talking now filling every corner of Rosumund's downstairs, "I am quite sure that a very large number of the people here are drunk." Alex and Matthew both sniggered. "Says the woman who had only a mouthful of champagne," Matthew teased. "And you are right! And… oh my goodness!" he pointed through the open double doors, and there, climbing up onto Rosamund's enormous dining table were two girls, dragging with them, the husbands of two middle-aged ladies that Mary knew to be acquaintances of Rosamunds. From that point on, the evening descended into notoriety. Mary put her hand to her mouth and giggled as the foursome began to dance drunkenly, and in a most risqué fashion upon the tabletop. Her giggling increased as she saw her Aunt making a hasty retreat from the ballroom, clearly wishing to stay away from the aggrieved wives of the two men up on the table. She was forced to quickly stifle her giggles as she saw Rosamund making a beeline for their corner.

"Cousin Rosamund," Matthew's lips twitched as she collapsed in a rather unladylike fashion onto the sofa between himself and Alex, "Don't tell me you are already hiding from the guests at your very own party?"

"Hiding I am," Rosamund sighed dramatically. "And I've just had a row with Susan. Silly woman. She was intent on frogmarching Rose up to bed. Creating a scene in front of all her little friends. I stood my ground. It wasn't Rose on the table, or with the cigarettes! Shrimpie agreed. Which made her all the more sour of course," she frowned. She looked around then, finally registering whom she was talking to, and a smile replaced the frown. "I see I have found myself with two fine gentlemen! Do keep me occupied. I have no wish to capture the eye of either Lady Drake or Marchioness Bradford whilst their husbands continue to embarrass themselves atop my 16th century table."

Matthew raised an eyebrow in a comical fashion. "What says you, Mr Shipton? Up to the challenge the lady has set?"

Alex's eyes flashed with mirth. "I daresay I could be," he chuckled. "How about we start with some talk of the music. It's mightily impressive!"

And with the sonorous sounds of the Dixieland ensemble their backdrop; the four of them began a lively discussion about music, a topic in which all of them had more than a passing interest. And when Matthew remarked just how much he had enjoyed the opera Madam Butterfly, Rosamund got very animated indeed. "Was it Nellie you heard singing?" she asked, leaning forward with interest.

Matthew shook his head, wondering who on earth this 'Nellie' was. "No, it was a very fine young coloratura soprano, Rosina Buckman. I think she is from the colonies. Australia or New Zealand, I am not sure which," he explained.

"Ahh," Rosamund answered knowingly. "She and Nellie Melba have been alternating in the lead for that show. And I have heard that Rosina, too, is also very good."

"Do you know Nellie Melba personally?" Alex said curiously.

"Well, not exactly," Rosamund blushed a little, her namedropping having caught her out. "My friend Alissa Williams introduced me to her after she reopened Covent Garden with a concert in May. She was very impressive. Very impressive indeed," she said effusively. "She is widely liked by ordinary folk too. A repertoire of pretty tunes with wide appeal."

"Could be a great Yorkshire fund raiser for us," Matthew commented thinking aloud. Rosamund stared, and went quiet for a moment.

"A fundraiser," she murmured. She furrowed her brow and then looked at Matthew again. "For what? Are you talking of this Trust of yours? The one you are working on with Evelyn Napier?"

Matthew nodded. "I am."

Rosamund leaned forward, animated once again. "Tell me about it. Your Trust I mean. For whom, and why you are fundraising. Because you never know! I might just be able to get her interested." And with a surprised glance at Alex and Mary, Matthew began.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Sir Richard Carlisle had been dreading the visit. And Tuesday morning it came. Lord Doncourt strode purposefully into the visitor room to the seat opposite his foe, his shiny top hat and elegant coat yet again making the guards look twice. Richard steeled himself, waiting for the interrogation he knew was to come. And so it did.

"Your exposures have helped us with Lord Windemere and Viscount Rochester. We've the agreement of both of them now to say nothing. But not so Lord Grantham!" he frowned. "This so called 'scandal' you served us up isn't quite what it seems!" he surveyed Richard suspiciously. "What about your former fiancé? Surely there is something you have on her that could force his hand?" Richard's stomach clenched, but he looked back impassively, unmoving.

Lord Doncourt noticed the involuntary twitch in Richard's jaw. Picked up the subtle change in his breathing. The tiniest tremble in the little finger of the hand that rested on the tabletop. He leaned back on the wooden chair and tucked his hands behind his head. "Well, well," he said softly. "So you're keeping your powder dry." He observed him in silence for a minute, and then gave a sudden start as recognition dawned. He straightened up and leaned forward, a nasty little smile playing at his lips. "That's it. Of course!" Lord Doncourt hissed. "You want her. You are still in love with her!" he sniggered. "That's what you're doing. Waiting for her crippled husband to succumb to his war wounds. To leave you free to court her again!"

Richard's face remained impassive, but the slight reddening of his neck gave him away, and Doncourt began to laugh helplessly, a cruel and derisive laugh. "Oh, my dear man," he said, his tone deeply patronising. "I'm sorry to inform you but the priggish Mr Crawley appears to be recovering. Has returned to work. Spearheading one of the biggest mergers ever seen in the textile industries in fact! And last I heard he may even be walking, if High Street gossip can be relied upon!"

Richard felt as if he had been punched. It took a herculean effort to continue to keep his face impassive.

"I'm right, am I not?" Lord Doncourt continued remorselessly. "Her invalid husband dies, and you, by keeping mum on her secret, keep alive the chance she will run straight back to your arms!" he sniggered. "As if!" and he began to laugh helplessly. "As if she would ever go back to you! A man who has seen the inside of Pentonville!" He stood up then, and between peals of laughter, he said to Richard, "He will be here tomorrow. He'll need a real job that will deliver the goods this time." Leaning in he suddenly stopped laughing and his face became menacing. "Don't muck it up," he sneered, and straightening up, he donned his top hat, turned on his heel and strode out.

Back in his cell a little while later, Richard sat motionless. He was stunned. Devastated. Lord Doncourt's brutal words had ripped open his heart. For Richard, afflicted by that very special kind of amnesia known only to the true narcissist, had truly believed that Mary would come back to him.

Disbelief would be handy right now. But it wasn't an option. Doncourt's words had held an immutable truth. And now that truth ate at Richard like a cancer.

He heard thunder in the distance, and the slight slap of rain. Fingers of cold air crept in from the high, barred window. He pulled a blanket off the bed, wrapped it around his shoulders and began to pace, slow and stooped. Despondent. The rain was becoming louder now. For it to be audible through the thick walls must mean it was heavy indeed. He let out a bitter sigh. The weather, like his life, was closing in. Craddock's latest information had been discouraging. Crawley's people seemed to have stopped their digging. Not that he had been able to ask Craddock straight without risking the attention of Doncourt! And now this. The final nail in the coffin. And in that moment, as the rain beat down, and the thunder became louder, it came to him what must be done. That this man, in fact the whole damn lot of them, must go down no matter what. And there was someone else. Yes, someone else who would have to go down with them too.

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**Authors Note:**

There were inquiries and rumours for much of the immediate post war period about war profiteering - in the USA, Britain and also Europe. But very few people were actually prosecuted, so I'm using a bit of artistic license here in the Carlisle and associates storyline!

On the legal front, however, the twenties and thirties were a huge era for mergers and the rise of the corporation as we know it today, so the focus on that for Matthew and Alex's work has a firm historical base. As does the rehabilitation work done at Shepherd's Bush hospital - now known as Hammersmith. At one point immediately post-war it had thousands of patients. And Dr Jones, of course, is real as is Agnes Hunt (although they weren't married.. again I used a bit of artistic license in the story here...) and both widely known for their huge effort to medicine, orthopaedics and rehabilitation.

Therapeutic horse riding was first used in soldier rehabilitation I think around 1916, and it started at Oxford hospital in Britain. We will all know it today as the work done by RDA in many countries around the world.

Rosina Buckman was a New Zealand-born opera singer who did indeed alternate roles with Dame Nellie Melba: Like she had done, Rosina would became an acclaimed soloist later in the '20's in her own right. Her performance in Madame Butterfly at Covent Garden was said _"to be a revelation to the regular subscribers in that, for once, the occupants of the stalls and boxes did not chatter."_

Hope you continue to enjoy, and thanks again for your reviews. I always appreciate getting them.


	48. Chapter 48

**Authors Note: **A warning: this chapter has some violence (including violence of a sexual nature) so please proceed with caution if you don't like that sort of thing. M chapter.

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"Farnham," Donald Watson poked his head around the corner of the door to the younger man's office. "Have a moment? I've a job come in. One I can't take."

"Yes, Sir. With you right away." Arthur Farnham stood, picked up his notebook and pen, and followed his boss back to his office.

The job seemed innocuous enough. An allegation of possible shareholder misappropriation: the client was an Englishman with a minor shareholding in a company neither lawyer had heard of, and of which, they therefore presumed must be of modest size. The man now resided in America, and as such he was including an offer of a first class return passage to New York with the fee.

Mr Farnham cleared his throat. "Why put me on this, Sir? Looks to be a modest job. A few perks with it, I mean a passage to New York and the opportunity for a week in the new _Hotel Pennsylvania_ isn't to be sneezed at. Surely one of the senior partners…?"

Mr Watson's lips twitched at his protégé's hidden meaning. "Well, Farnham, that's just it. This Mr John Smith, whom I must say I've not heard of before, seems a mighty suspicious chap. He will only take on a lawyer that will swear on the bible to having absolutely no connections, or potential conflicts with this rather long list of other shareholders," and he pushed a piece of paper across the desk. Arthur ran his eye over it quickly. He gave a low whistle. "If you don't mind me saying, Sir. This list reads like a page from _Burkes Peerage_! Are we sure it's just a small company?"

Mr Watson gave a snort. "Must be, given none of us around here have heard of it. Besides, you know how the nobs work. Put a dime here, a dime there. I mean look at the uptake that Ponzi chap has been getting, his agents working all the gentlemen's clubs! Fishy if you ask me. But there they all are, lining up. Purses out!"

"And this is why you're asking me. Unlikely I'd know any of these gentlemen," Arthur stated.

"Exactly." Mr Watson confirmed.

Arthur slowly exhaled. Strange how things worked out sometimes, he pondered. Rare that a lad like himself with his background might ever find **that** working in his favour when it came to landing such a cushy legal job. For Arthur Farnham, despite his sharp clothes and modulated Oxford accent, was the only son of a humble factory clerk.

Mr Watson stood, indicating to his employee that his time was up. Arthur did likewise.

"Well then. Have a good look at it. Double-check that list. And if you can swear on the bible to no connections, familial or otherwise, then get a letter organised, and we'll take it on. Shame to waste that first class return passage eh?" he raised his eyebrows, his gaze following his employee as he left. He was pleased to be able to offer the hardworking lad a bit of a perk. He worried for him. Always a serious type, he had returned from the war brooding and silent. And his smile, rare at the best of times, had not been seen by any of the partners since.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Mary put down her copy of _The Custom of the Country_ and looked out at the rain pelting against the windows. Inside a fire crackled merrily in the grate, its warmth and glow lending a cosy feel to the Shipton's gracious drawing room. They had the residence to themselves: Clarissa and Alex were in Kent for the weekend visiting friends. A sudden gust sent a branch of the large oak outside lashing noisily against the side of the house and Mary felt a blast of chill air as the draught forced its way in around the edges of the French windows.

_Stormy. Like our last months have been_, she found herself reflecting a little sadly. She and Matthew had struggled being apart: hated leaving each other, but finding themselves rowing far too frequently each time they were reunited. If it hadn't been another urgent decision needed for the renovations to the vicarage or an argument about what staff their new household would need, it was a disgruntled farmer worried about their new tenancy agreement, or worst of all, yet more news of an expensive problem unearthed as the overdue maintenance to the cottages continued at pace.

She gave a heavy sigh, recalling it all. Both of them had been exhausted: her morning sickness, which was thankfully now over, had left her drained and cross, and she hadn't managed to achieve as much as she had hoped for the Estate, after returning so full of confidence from New York. And Matthew, whilst he had continued to make progress, seemed to be perpetually tired. They had both expected his tiredness to abate, as it had the previous times he had embarked on a new regimen, but it hadn't. If anything it seemed to be getting worse, and with it, Mary observed darkly, his mood.

No wonder it had all come to an explosive head one Saturday afternoon a few weeks prior, when she had been reduced to tears and Matthew to stony silence after a seemingly pointless fight over the placement of light fittings in the reception room at the vicarage. Thank goodness Isobel had arrived when she did: sitting them both down she had seen immediately the problem, and gently insisted they schedule some time off together, where there would be no talk of work, the estate, nor the progress on their home to be.

And here they were. Together in London, on a cold and wet autumn weekend.

She sighed again and turned back to the warmth of the fire. It was so pleasant to be relaxing, but it would be over too soon, and the relentless schedule would resume once more.

This time, Matthew looked up from his book. "What is it, my darling? You're sighing a lot."

"I've missed this," she said softly. "Weekends like they should be. Relaxing in each other's company without a to do list hanging over us," she paused.

"But come Monday, it will all go back to how it's been. Be apart all week. Back together for too short a time, with too many decisions to make. We'll be grumping at each other again before you can say _Jack Robinson_!" there was both resignation and a little bitterness in her tone.

Matthew frowned slightly, pressing his lips together. "It's not for much longer. The deal is through. And we start interviewing for a principal for the office this week. The vicarage is almost ready. And…" he paused and shook his head slightly, not sure what to say about his rehabilitation, which had been getting him more and more down of late.

"Oh God," he heard his wife mutter. "The movers. They're still not booked!" _Damn it. Something else I am behind on!_ Mary was immediately bothered.

"Sorry," Matthew said more gently. "We weren't supposed to be talking of such things."

"I should say sorry. I interrupted you," Mary sighed yet again. "You were about to say something else."

"Oh…" a shadow crossed his face and he blew his cheeks out. "Nothing." He really didn't want to think about it. When his programme had been officially due to end in the middle of October, he had agreed, at the urging of the medics, to stay on to take part in another trial. In agreeing, he had reasoned if there were a possibility for even more improvement he would be a fool not to try. Now he wasn't so sure. True, it had seen him manage on his feet for far longer, but the intensity of it all was such that he had been struggling in a fog of exhaustion ever since.

"Are you sure it's nothing?" she persisted.

He frowned. "Well…" he wasn't sure where to begin.

"It's your rehab, isn't it?" Mary surmised. "Not going so well. When do you see Doctor Jones for your next review?"

"Three weeks," he replied. "The Tuesday after our benefit concert," he paused. "Would you come with me?"

She sensed his apprehension. "Of course!" she said quickly. "And let's hope he has a better explanation than your other doctor for why you are so tired," she tried to sound reassuring.

"If only," Matthew said heavily. "God, Mary. I never…" he shook his head. As he opened his mouth to continue, they were interrupted by a knock at the door.

"A telephone call for you, Lady Mary," Giles announced, entering with a bow.

"For me?" Mary glanced at Matthew and stood up. "Excuse me Matthew. Perhaps it is Mama. She said she had something she might call about," and she followed Giles from the room into the hallway.

It was cold in the foyer where the telephone was. She pulled her wrap tightly about her and picked up the receiver.

"Hello," she said expectantly.

"Mary. Thank goodness you're there. I wanted to catch you before you went back to Downton." It was Edward. Something in his voice put Mary instantly on alert.

"What is it?" she asked quickly.

"Well, to tell you the truth, it's all a bit strange. It's some information you might want me to send on to that associate of yours in New York," he paused.

Mary inhaled sharply and clutched the receiver closer to her ear. "Tell me," she said abruptly, and Edward began.

"You wouldn't believe what I've just heard," she announced to a surprised Matthew upon her return to the drawing room. "Eddie received a dossier. No idea who from. But," she lowered her voice and looked around to check that Giles had left, "it includes bank statements and transactions that show it was Lord Doncourt who paid Sir Richard for the information passed to the German operatives." Matthew gave a low whistle.

"Lord Doncourt, it appears, has then been paid by some sort of entity that is actually a cover for a German armaments company," Mary continued. "And it appears that Lord Doncourt is not the only one."

"My goodness," Matthew breathed. "Has… who else knows of this?" he frowned.

"No one. Eddie is quite aware just what he's dealing with. He's going to arrange for them all to be copied, confidentially," she added hurriedly seeing Matthew's frown deepen. "And then he'll send it all off to New York."

"Without a return address I hope," Matthew stated.

"Of course."

"Who were the others?" Matthew asked.

"One was Viscount Thomas Trent," answered Mary, and Matthew rolled his eyes.

"No surprise there! Who else?" She rattled off a list of names. One of the names rang a bell: a Viscount Rochester. _Why do I know that name?_ he muttered half to himself, but try as he might, he couldn't remember. And perhaps it didn't matter. This information might be all it took to bring these men to account.

"You know what this means," Matthew leaned forward on his elbows and drummed his fingers together.

Mary nodded, knowing what he was about to say.

"Someone else knows. Someone who is on our side! But the thing is who is it? And how the devil do they know what we're up to?" he stared at Mary intently. They looked at each other, thinking.

"I wonder if it's Richard himself?" Mary said at last.

Matthew shrugged. "It seems the most likely explanation. But how he has achieved that when Doncourt must have his spies out, I've no idea. I mean, these are bona fide copies of Doncourt's bank statements for goodness sakes."

"Perhaps it's time Violet had another chat with Mr Craddock. Dropped him a hint. See if he takes the bait," Matthew pondered.

Mary frowned and pursed her lips. "Very well," she said eventually. "I'll visit Granny on Monday."

0-0-0-0-0-0

Sunlight burst through early afternoon. Transformed the storm-weary city. Water droplets glittered, jewel-like on telephone wires. Wind-tossed twigs and leaves softened the usual hard angles of the paths. Folk began to venture out, pleased at the chance to enjoy some fresh air after days cooped up inside. Mary and Matthew, taking a turn in Chester Square's private garden, found themselves energised by the sharpness of the freshly washed air. They joked together. Brushed hands. Lips. Kicked piles of leaves like over-excited children. Flirted.

Returning indoors they were both of a singular mind. The bedroom door had barely clicked shut before Mary began to remove her clothes. He stood and watched her, entranced. She was magnificent in her pregnancy. Her skin glowed. She was curvy. When her blouse came off, he couldn't help but gasp at the sight of her fuller breasts straining against the flimsy lace brassiere. Every move she made was sensual - the dropping of her skirt. Suspenders carefully unclasped. Silk stockings delicately smoothed off.

He felt a frisson, and his whole body trembled. He clutched his sticks tightly to steady himself.

Purring, she moved and stood so close to him that their foreheads touched and their breath mingled. Her bosom pressed tantalisingly into his chest.

"Your turn?" she whispered. He sat down on the bed, and they dealt with his shoes and the brace first. As he reached to undo his tie, she put her hand out to stop him. "Let me." She was blushing.

He cocked his head at her, questioningly.

"I want to see you naked in the daylight. And," she paused. "Standing up," her voice was sheepish.

"Standing up, naked?" Matthew echoed in astonishment.

She nodded, her blush deepening. "I want to…" she felt too shy to say it: that she wanted them to stand together and hold each other, stark naked. Instead she looked at him beseechingly, willing him to understand.

Confused he frowned at her slightly for a moment. But then he shrugged. _Whatever turns my insatiable wife on!_, he reasoned, and he smirked slightly to himself.

He reached for his sticks and rose slowly to his feet. "Well," he said breathily as Mary stood too, in all her naked magnificence. "You'd best get on with it. Because I'm desperate to throw you back onto that bed right now."

"You'll be more desperate in a minute," she murmured, her dark eyes glittering and she reached for his tie.

"You are a witch. You know that, don't you?" Matthew chuckled as she quickly worked it loose. Mary undressing him was quite the experience. Nothing practical about it: rather it took the form of a slow, sensual dance of her hands (and usually her lips as well) that left him completely unhinged.

And so it was. The jacket, waistcoat and finally the shirt all rapidly unbuttoned: the shiver that stole through his body as her tongue dragged lazily across his chest; the heat that began to consume him as her fingers stroked feather-light circles around the sensitive skin of his waist. He uttered a moan.

The pants were unbuttoned next. Last the shorts. She let them drop to the floor, and steadied him whilst he kicked them away with his good leg. Reaching for his groin, she took him in her hand and squeezed, a thrill going through her own body as she felt his arousal. Releasing him, she stepped back, and ran her hands up and down the smooth lines of his body. Noticed the tone, back to some extent at least, in his legs. The deep scars across his torso starting to fade.

No longer rail thin, she relished how sleek he was looking and how it served to accentuate his strength and the nice proportions of his body. Her pulse quickened. She caught his gaze and lost herself for a moment in his exquisite blue eyes. There was a lump in her throat. He was utterly beautiful.

Stepping forward, she pressed herself against him, wanting to feel every inch of his skin against hers. One arm wrapped itself firmly around him, stroking his back, squeezing his backside. The other grasped his length and began to work him with more than a little vigour. She gave a sultry smile as she felt him hardening still further under her touch.

"Good god, woman," he bit out. She quietened him with a firm kiss and continued her efforts. She knew what worked for him now: knew he could sense and enjoy a change in the pressure, or in the rhythm of her touch. And that touching him under his tip seemed to hasten his arousal.

He growled, wanting more of her. Couldn't feel enough of her body, his hands having to be otherwise occupied. "Mary, please…" he gasped, and dropping his sticks, he grabbed at her bottom and the two of them tumbled giggling back onto the bed.

What joy to feel her warm, yielding body atop his! To brush his hand over her rich, glossy hair; to explore her mouth with his tongue, delighting in the softness of her lips possessively owning him. He wanted to take her. Growling again, he rolled her over, and with a bit of effort, managed to position himself kneeling above her. With a smirk, he pinned her arms back and leaned forward intending to give her a seductive kiss.

"Matthew!" she gasped looking at him wide eyed.

He frowned confused, and then he felt a wave of panic. Perhaps this wasn't all right. Was this too close to what the ghastly Pamuk had done?

"Mary?" he let go and sat back up and his arousal faded. His eyes were questioning, clearly worried. She immediately understood, pleased at his thoughtfulness, but a little sad it had put him off.

"No. No darling. I know it's you. And I'm always safe with you. It's just… well, this is new," she tried to explain.

"If it's not all right we don't…" he began, but she sat up quickly and interrupted him with a firm kiss.

"It really is all right. And I'm thrilled if we can try to do this. A new way! So how about you get on with it," she whispered.

He looked at her a little uncertainly, and as if to reassure him, she flashed her eyes at him and reached to fondle him once more. And after an initial pause, he responded with a mischievous smile and a growl and they resumed their earlier kissing.

0-0-0-0-0-0

He saw the Dowager and her maid well before they saw him. He wondered what cause she had to rendezvous this time. Last time it had been to dismiss him. Code, he knew, for them calling a halt to anymore digging. He had been oddly disappointed, but not surprised: punishment for what had been published of Lord Grantham's affair with his maid, he presumed.

After the initial terror of being forced into a double-cross – how the formidable old woman had ever found out his sordid secret he had no idea – he had managed the ruse, he thought, rather well. Certainly no hint of suspicion from his other client.

She passed him slowly on the path, continuing her idle chatter to her maid, the slightest flick of her eye indicating that she had seen him. When the pair reached the kiosk, the maid went inside presumably to order, and the Dowager continued on towards the lily pond. Straightening his tie he walked quickly to catch her up and fell into step alongside her.

"I've heard a whisper," she murmured, continuing to look straight ahead. "A gentleman has written evidence. He does not wish to blow the whistle. The question is whether your man wants to. He must plead guilty of course. Find out. Tell me next week." She stopped at a park bench and with the slightest lift of his chin to show he had acknowledged her message, he continued past her along the path.

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"Mr Barrow. Mr Barrow!" Barrow looked through the gloom trying to see who was calling out to him as he hurried, coat drawn close against the cold towards the station for the evening train to York. And then he recognised Charlie Connell, limping towards him from the direction of _The Dog and Duck_.

"Good evening Mr Connell," Barrow nodded to the younger man and slowed his step to allow him to catch up. "Not the warmest night is it?"

"Flippin' freezing," Charlie Connell hunched over a little more as an icy wind swirled around the two men, flapping their coats and scarves. "I'm glad I saw you. A long time ago now Mr Crawley was after a photograph. That fellow who had been causing the trouble for Lord Grantham."

"Oh?" Barrow glanced sideways at Charlie and tried to remember. And it then it came to him: the odd conversation with his employer that had followed a trip to the Tailor's in Ripon where Charlie worked: something about a man trying to get dirt from the locals on the Crawley family. He nodded. "Yes, I remember now. Have you seen this man?"

"Tim Bennett did," Charlie replied. "A few times in Ripon. And per chance this last time, he had access to a camera. The boss had one in that day for publicity photos. Some special car apparently. And the man walked past! So Tim took advantage and got the picture. But it's taken a while to get it – he had to wait for the boss to get the film developed and all. And here it is," He pressed a brown envelope into Barrow's hand. "Can I trust you'll get it to Mr Crawley for me," his teeth chattering now from the cold. "Never sure these days if he's in London or up at the big house."

"Of course," Barrow nodded. "And thank you for this Mr Connell. Mr Crawley will be very pleased." The two men nodded to each other and went their different ways, the bitter evening precluding any chance of a longer exchange. With no time to return to the Abbey and show it to Mr Crawley lest he miss his train, Barrow took the opportunity instead to show it first to Charlotte Jordan, Maurice's sister, who had arranged to meet her brother for tea after church on Sunday morning. A little confused as to why her brother's weekend valet even had the picture, Charlotte had confirmed, a little wistfully that yes, that was 'Peter' the suitor who had visited her twice and been friendly with her brother before vanishing, seemingly without trace, and without so much as a note to say good bye.

Immediately upon his return to Downton that evening, Barrow showed it to Mrs Hughes and Alfred. Both of them startled a little when they saw it. "There is a similarity," Mrs Hughes frowned. She walked across to her desk, unlocked it, and rifled in the drawer. "Aah. Here it is." Returning with one of two copies of the photograph that Alfred had managed to take (Lady Mary was in possession of the other), she placed it alongside and the three of them looked closely at the images.

"It is the same man," Alfred said at last. "Completely different clothes! I mean, there he looks like a right nob," he shook his head. "But when he showed up here, remember, Mrs Hughes? He looked just like your regular farm hand!" The three of them looked at each other.

"Good evening," Anna Bates walked in. "I'm sorry. Am I interrupting something?" she said quickly, seeing their perplexed expressions.

"No my dear," Mrs Hughes straightened up. "What was it you wanted?"

"To tell you that _Queen Anne_ is ready for Lady Shackelton." She looked at them more closely. "What is it? You all look a little mysterious!" Following their eyes down, she saw the two photographs. "Who are they?" she said, walking over to take a closer look.

"Well, that's just it," Thomas began. "We believe this man might be the one behind all the trouble for Lord Grantham."

"Oh?" Anna looked questioningly at Thomas and back at the photographs again.

"Hmmm," she lent closer over one of the pictures. "How strange," she murmured. "I don't know about the man you're pointing at. But I've met his friend," and she pointed to other man who had been captured in the photograph taken by Tim Bennett.

"You've met that man he's talking to?" Mrs Hughes's mouth dropped open in surprise, looking from the photograph of the partially obscured man to Anna and back again.

"Well, I think it is who I met," Anna looked again at the picture. "He was with Edna. I was going into a menswear in York to pick up a new tie for Mr Bates. And she was on her way out, with him! Quite a while ago now of course," her expression sobered at having to mention a now deceased colleague.

The silence in the room made Anna look up. "What is it? Have I said something wrong?" she stammered.

"You didn't catch his name, by chance did you?" Barrow asked urgently.

"Um… ah. Alex? Mr Alex perhaps? Why? What's wrong?" She asked again.

"Anna my dear, this is naught to do with you! But you've been very helpful!" Mrs Hughes hastened to reassure her. She pulled out a chair, motioning it to Anna. "Take a seat, and we'll tell you the story."

0-0-0-0-0-0

Downton Abbey was a hive of activity. Lorries rumbled up and down the drive delivering meat, groceries, flowers and extra seating. From upstairs came the hum of the new electric hoovers as the maids prepared one room after the other for the large number of guests expected for the weekend fundraising event. The downstairs staff had been up even earlier than usual, and breakfast had been a hasty affair, such were the tasks to be completed before the day was out.

"It must be six years since we have had a house party of this size," Mr Carson remarked as Butler and Housekeeper reviewed the task list.

"Indeed," Mrs Hughes replied. "Except that six years ago we had twice the number of staff. And hiring in extras is very difficult when good help is so hard to find," she tsk tsked. "Only two days to go, and I still haven't sourced the last of the extra kitchen maids we need for Mrs Patmore. And her Ladyship has been down every morning this past week worrying over the menus!"

"Hmm," Carson frowned. "We will have to look harder. You do know that they say that this Dame Nellie Melba is more 'royal than the royals," there was a slight note of disapproval in Carson's voice.

"And not just where the menu is concerned," Mrs Hughes pressed her lips together. "Her Ladyship had new curtains hung in _Princess Amelia_ this week past. And a new rug bought! It seems a stone won't be left unturned in attending to the Dame's comfort."

"But all for a good cause, of that there is no doubt," Mr Carson knitted his bushy eyebrows. "Mr Crawley and Mr Napier's efforts supporting our wounded heroes. We must all do our part."

There was a knock on Mrs Hughes's sitting room door. "Come in," the Housekeeper said, and Anna Bates entered, clutching a folio.

"Mr Carson, Mrs Hughes. Her Ladyship has just given me the final changes to the guest list," She placed the folio on Mrs Hughes's table and opened it to the page. "Lord Gillingham is now bringing his own valet. A Mr Green. The Honourable Evelyn Napier has finally confirmed his attending staff: with him and Lady Sarah are a Mr Dorset and a Miss Lisbon. Oh, and Mr Charles Blake asks if he may have the services of one of our footmen for the duration."

"And of course, he may," Carson responded, doing a quick tally in his head of the additional rooms required to house the guests' attending servants. The three conferred about some further details and then Anna left, a list of errands for Lady Mary still to do.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Matthew was angry. Furious it had worked out this way. Unaccountably tired. He and his exhausted, pregnant wife supervising movers the same weekend they were supposed to be courting Yorkshire society.

And it was his entire fault.

_You really buggered this one up, Crawley_ he berated himself for the umpteenth time as he pointed four lads struggling with the oversized Chesterfield sofa in the direction of the drawing room. _And now you are going to be late to your very own fund raiser. It's not a good look._

Mary had been onto him for weeks about the need to employ a Butler. _"We need one,"_ she had implored, many times. _"We're both too busy to run the household. And when the baby comes it's only going to get worse!"_

But he had railed against the mere thought of another man running his house. Delayed looking at the advertisement she had penned. Contemplated Barrow, but then remembered Maurice and decided, without asking his valet, that it couldn't possibly work. Announced to her in a tone that allowed for no argument, that they should wait until they had moved in.

Until now, when he was forced to confront the unpalatable reality of his over-stretched wife having had said 'yes' without thinking, to a moving date that directly clashed with their fund raising event. And worse, the first he had heard about it had been only a few days prior by which time it was too late to rearrange.

They hadn't shared a civil word since.

He groaned and leaned against the wall, wanting it all to go away. He heard the front door open and shut, and rapid footsteps in the hallway. Barrow appeared, puffing slightly. "Sir," he said a little urgently. "I know you wanted it all finished, but with the delay with the rain this morning, the men have only done the first load. It will take until midnight to finish it all! May I suggest you call a stop: Tell them to secure the trucks and come back Monday. If you don't dress now you and her Ladyship will miss the cocktails."

Matthew blew his cheeks out and gave a heavy sigh. "For goodness sakes. It's all a right balls-up," he rolled his eyes. "But let us do as you suggest, Barrow. Tell them. Let Anna know, and then come straight to the dressing room. We'll have to hurry."

As Thomas helped him quickly into white tie, Matthew reflected on how the fundraiser had come about, and how fast it had crept up on them. It seemed only yesterday that Cousin Rosamund had swept into his office at the Carey Street branch of _Harvell and Carter_ to triumphantly announce that she had Dame Nellie Melba's agreement to sing.

It had been quite a coup: the Dame had agreed to sing twice. In fact it had been her suggestion to perform at no fee for the veterans and their families. Held the week prior at the Royal Hall in Harrogate, the free concert had been a roaring success. They had been able to use the festive occasion to publicise the work of their Trust directly with veterans, talking, handing out pamphlets, explaining what aid was available, and also using the opportunity to sign men up to the various returned services associations represented. All of the Trustees had been there to help. Matthew had returned home at the end of the night tired but extremely satisfied.

"Marvellous event. Just marvellous!" Robert said effusively as they drove through the dark and slightly misty countryside back towards Downton.

"It was," Cora smiled. "And to think we filled every seat in the Royal Hall!"

"All thanks to you and your team of organisers," Matthew gave his mother-in-law a grateful look. He felt indebted to Rosamund and Cora: their efforts had seen free buses from the surrounding towns and villages for the concertgoers and provision of a small Christmas gift to each child in attendance. "And the crowd just loved Dame Nellie," he added.

"They certainly did," Cora agreed. "There were few dry eyes when she closed with Puccini's _Addio_. Although I have to admit that my favourite of the night was _Annie Laurie_."

"Well, the newspapers were out in force," Robert said. "And if there are good reviews it should bode well for our society concert next weekend."

And now it was that weekend. And it needed to go well if they were to reach the ambitious fund raising target they had set. He took a deep breath and tried to clear his head. And hoped that he and Mary could come together enough to get through it without another row.

It was the Christmas tree that did it. Adorned with glass and silver decorations, the large tree in the Grand Hall, together with the candles wreathed in mistletoe and holly created a magical scene. Neither of them could help smiling when they saw it, and it broke the frosty silence that had reigned during the short trip in the motor from the vicarage to the Abbey.

Turning to his wife, regal in her dark green gown and an emerald and gold tiara, Matthew uttered "Truce?" in an apologetic tone.

"Truce," she echoed, touching his arm briefly, and with a peace brokered, the two of them proceeded to the drawing room where the cocktails were now being served. It was time to go to work. The evening was all about wooing Yorkshire's patricians and doing everything possible to get them to open their purses. Mary's intent was twofold: instil confidence in employing the wounded by sharing her own experience; and in so doing, underline the importance of proper support and how to provide it. Matthew's was to emphasise the scale and harsh realities of the unmet need, sharing the personal approaches and letters he and the other Trustees were fielding on an ever-increasing basis.

It was a very busy few hours indeed, and by the time they were expected to go through to the ballroom for the concert, Matthew was exhausted and stumbling on his feet. Barrow, who had been keeping a watchful eye out, sidled up to him and asked quietly, "Sir, might I fetch you your chair?" But Matthew, annoyed with himself for being so tired and knowing full well the reason why, stubbornly refused. With more than a little misgiving Barrow chose not to argue the case: instead he kept close by as Matthew made his way slowly to the ballroom with his wife. He was so focused on getting him safely to his seat near the front, he didn't see the man seated with the servants near the back: a man whose profile he might just have recognised. A man who appeared in a photograph, that thanks to the chaos of the week, Barrow had still not had the chance to show to his employer.

Twenty minutes into the concert, the lights now dimmed for the 'semi-staging' Rosamund had insisted upon, Anna Bates finally gave in to her pounding headache, and reluctantly stood to go in search of a much needed draught.

Thomas wasn't sure why he had even glanced back at that moment. Perhaps it was the slight scrape of her chair. But it was then he noticed him: some familiarity in the man's silhouette, a man who, like him, had turned to watch Anna leave. He frowned, staring intently for a moment. Unable to place him, Thomas turned his focus back to Dame Nellie.

Only seconds later, another movement caught his eye, and turning his head again, he saw the man stand up and slip silently out of the room. A sudden beam of light from the stage illuminated the man's profile for an instant and he saw it more fully. Distinctive. That sharp jaw. The jutting eyebrows. He felt strangely uneasy. _Where was the man going?_ He exhaled impatiently, and tried to focus back on the singer. _It's nothing,_ he told himself. _Poor devil's probably got a headache. Like Anna._ Anna. Anna. The photograph. Blimey, was it him? It was him. The man she had met who had been with Edna. A jolt of fear charged through him. Had he recognised her? What if he was Green? And what if she ran into him now? He gasped so sharply that Matthew turned to look at him.

"Sorry, Sir," he mouthed. "Not feeling well," and all of a sudden he was on his feet, desperate to get out of the room. He needed to find Anna. Matthew shot him a questioning look and Barrow forced a reassuring smile onto his face but touched his head briefly: Matthew gave a brief nod: his valet had a headache and he was going in search of a draught. He turned back to the front and focused back on the singer, who was beginning the opening verse of Faust's _Jewel Song_.

Being so close to the front, and with the seating so tightly packed, Thomas heard more than a few murmurs of disapproval from the guests as he tried, as quickly as possible, to make his way through to the exit, all the time trying to catch Bates's eye. Unfortunately he caught Carson's first, and Carson gave him a look of such venom that he froze and stood uncertainly for a few seconds, wondering what to do.

_Bloody hell Thomas!_ He told himself. _Forget old Carson. You know that bastard has to be the Green chap. The brute that did Jane over. Whose mate tried to set up Maurice. And Anna is out there alone!_ The thought of her running into him was too awful to contemplate. Impassive but defiant he kept his eye on Carson whilst continuing, as fast as possible, to work his way through the tangle of guest legs and chairs. He finally reached Bates glad the man was in an aisle seat. His face now burning red under the furious gaze of Mr Carson, he tapped the older man on the shoulder.

"Mr Bates. Come. It's Anna!" he hissed.

"What the devil…" Bates frowned at him suspiciously.

"Just come… that man! A bad man! Anna!" Thomas whispered desperately, and he tugged on the man's arm.

His unexpected touch and the desperation in his eyes shocked Bates. He had no idea what Thomas was on about, but he could tell it was something serious and it involved his wife. After a furtive glance left and right, he nodded, and reached beneath his seat for his stick.

"I'll go ahead," Thomas muttered under his breath, knowing Bates would be slow, and he walked silently but quickly to the doors. And once through them, he began to run. Behind him, Bates was less fortunate. He had just got to his feet and was turning to go, when he found himself blocked by a furious Mr Carson.

Thomas saw that the door to downstairs was open, and calculated that it was there that Anna would have gone. He was barely through the door when he heard her terrified scream.

_Fucking hell!_ He increased his speed, taking the steps two at a time. Anna screamed again, even louder, and this time she didn't stop. Thomas groaned out loud, fear prickling the back of his neck. Reaching the bottom of the stairs he bounded towards the kitchen. He could hear the menacing voice, _"… aren't you a pretty little bitch! But you know too much. And I'm going to enjoy..."_ and the rest of his words were drowned out again by Anna's terrified screams.

Barrow flung open the kitchen door and in an instant he was back in the trenches: The raw smell of fear. The blood. The ugly one to one combat. But this German wore a valet's livery and the English tommy was a woman. Spots came into his eyes and he swayed.

Anna screamed again, snapping him out of it, and he was back in the Downton kitchen facing a horrifying sight. Blond hair clutched in a brutal fist. The sound of clothing viciously rent. An animalistic growl.

A blood spattered kitchen knife lay on the table. Spying it, Thomas felt his stomach lurch. _What the fuck has he done with that already?_ And acting on pure instinct, he dived first for the knife, picking it up and flinging it across the kitchen where it slithered, thankfully out of sight, under one of the stoves.

Next he wheeled round and jabbed his elbow hard into Green's solar plexus roaring, "Get your hands off of her!" directly into his ear. He had caught Green by surprise, and the man stumbled sideways, hampered by his loosened clothing. He lost his grip on Anna who fell to the floor and doubled up in pain.

Enraged, the man began wrestling Thomas.

"Run Anna!" he shouted desperately, and sobbing in terror, she began a desperate crawl towards the door. Thomas managed to sidestep Green's first few blows, but it got harder as the man became even angrier.

"You cock-sucking little shit," he sneered, and this time Thomas couldn't dodge the punch: the blow sent him flying across the room with such force he hit the wall.

"Aaargh," he grunted, and black spots were again swimming before his eyes. Furious, he dragged himself to his feet, swaying a little, and ran at Green once more, desperate to keep him from Anna long enough for her to escape.

Green gave an evil laugh, easily repelling the now dizzy and weakened Thomas. He set upon the slighter man with a series of cruel blows. Thomas felt the first few: One, he guessed, had loosened teeth. Another, he was sure had broken something. But a later blow knocked him out cold, and Anna let out a blood-curdling scream when she heard his body fall heavily against the table, and thud to the floor.

In the moment of terrifying silence that followed, she continued her painful but determined crawl towards the kitchen door until two large feet appeared and blocked her way. With a sickening jolt of fear she recoiled and curled herself back against the wall, shaking violently.

There was a strange timbre to the man's voice when he spoke. "Well, well. Fancy a Nancy boy for the first course. A little spice for what is to come!"

His titillation sickened her.

"Thought he could be your saviour!"

His laugh nauseating.

"But no. Oh no!" and with an evil grin he reached towards her. But just as his hands brushed her trembling shoulders, she heard a loud thwack, and the man jerked backwards, his shoes slithering away from her as if by some invisible force.

And then it was him who was howling in pain.

"You fucking bastard!" John Bates spat, yanking hard again on his walking stick. Green's face went a queer shade, and he staggered and half fell back against the table. "How dare you put your filthy hands on my wife!" Bates roared, yanking his walking stick roughly from out between the man's legs, and whacking it hard across the man's chest. He doubled over, winded and grunting in pain.

Bates lifted his stick ready for another strike, but the sound of shouting and hurried steps outside startled them both. Green jerked upright, trying desperately to catch his breath. He eyed Bates and the raised stick. And then, like a cat, he sprang sideways, avoiding the stick by a whisker as Bates crashed it down again. He shot out of the door just as Mr Carson arrived, shoving the older man brutally against the wall and dodging past Mrs Hughes. The slapping of his shoes against the stone floor echoed down the hall as he sprinted off. Mrs Hughes shouted indignantly.

Bates roared, "Don't let him get away!" He heard Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes scrambling to give chase, but he knew already it was futile: injured or not, the man was strong and fast. None of them had the capability to overpower him, and Alfred, the only one who might have, wasn't there.

"Dam and blast!" he swore in frustration. And what the hell... what the hell had the bastard done to his precious wife?

His skin prickling in fear, he turned back to her and not giving a jot about his bad leg, threw himself down onto the floor and took her in his arms.

Anna gave a ragged sob of relief. As she raised her head to look at her husband, her eyes fell on Thomas's still body curled against the table leg. She gave a start and tried painfully to straighten up.

"John," her voice trembled. "John look! Look at Thomas! He's hurt Thomas. We need to get the Doctor. Now."

0-0-0-0-0-0

Sir Richard Carlisle was apoplectic. Speechless with rage.

"You promised me you'd keep that thug under control!" he hissed.

Doncourt shifted uncomfortably. "He did what you wanted," he answered testily. "Confirmed it can't have been Lord Grantham!"

"But he outed himself! Showed his hand! And all because he couldn't keep his flies shut," Richard hissed.

"He says he meant to kill the maid. Said she recognised him," the man retorted.

"And why didn't he? Well, we know why. Just like the other time, he let himself be ruled by his bloody prick," Richard whispered venomously. "How many days till he's found now? So many witnesses! I hope you've got a back up plan," he rounded on Doncourt. "Just imagine what he'd say to the right policeman. You'd better get cracking or you'll watch it all tumble down on top of you," and Richard looked away, seething.

For once, Lord Doncourt was actually chastened. It was a balls-up. And it could be a very expensive balls-up. Richard was right. The thug, so very valuable to them all these past years, was now a liability. And liabilities had to go.

0-0-0-0-0-0

**Author's Notes:**

A little about Nellie Melba:

When the First World War broke out, Nellie Melba became involved in fund-raising for war charities, raising £100,000. In recognition of this, she was created a Dame Commander of the Order of the British Empire (DBE) in March 1918, "for services in organising patriotic work."

I wanted the circumstances in which she sings at Downton far more realistic than portrayed by JF in DA: Her singing in aid of a war charity is this.

One critique of the inaccuracies of the Fellowes portrayal of Dame Nellie makes this observation: _"In 1922, she had enjoyed 30 years of being received as a social equal by crowned heads and aristocrats throughout Europe, and she would only have sung at a private party as a personal favour to her host."_

And of course the real Dame Nellie never would have countenanced, nor do I believe would a host like Robert have been so uninformed, as to assume she would take her meal in her room and not in the dining room with the other esteemed guests!


	49. Chapter 49

**Author's Note:** M Chapter.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Arthur Farnham was a good twenty minutes into the meeting at the Manhattan offices of _White and Case_ when the penny dropped as he perused the written brief he had just been handed: there was no 'John Smith,' and the 'company' he had been led to believe he was investigating the shareholder misappropriation for, was, in fact, several sizeable companies, including one he knew from the New York Times that very morning was currently under investigation in the United States for wartime corruption.

He inhaled sharply, thinking hard. Why all the cloak and dagger? Was the real client a criminal? He frowned and looked across at the young assistant, Brown who was sitting patiently on the opposite side of the desk.

"It's legitimate." Brown had been waiting for the question. "I swear," he lifted up a pocket Bible and eyed him. "It is, of course, your decision whether you believe me or not. Feel free to depart if you don't. No questions will be asked as long as you maintain the confidentiality agreement we signed earlier."

The two men stared at each other for a long moment. Arthur had a lot he wished to ask. Questions he knew he was unlikely to have answered. Who was this 'client?' Why was he afraid of outing these people? Was he a competitor, aggrieved that someone else had ended up with the spoils of war? Or like him, someone horrified at the allegations he saw on the papers before him, and keen to see the profiteers brought to justice, but afraid, for some reason, of retribution? He sat motionlessly and contemplated for some time what he ought to do.

Brown appeared relaxed, casually reading through a couple of files, and occasionally glancing back up to see if his visitor was ready. Finally reaching a decision, Arthur cleared his throat. Brown looked up instantly and Arthur gave a curt nod.

Brown nodded back. "Good," he muttered. "Stays Mr John Smith, and Whitley Holdings in all our talk, all our correspondence. Understood?"

"Understood," his visitor echoed, and Brown reached for a large file tied carefully with a green ribbon and pushed it across the desk.

"Read it. When you are ready, come and find me through the receptionist. I'm your assistant for the week. I can set up meetings, fetch you the law books. We have an up to date set of English statutes in our library here. And I'll do my best to source anything else you might need." He stood. "Best of luck, Sir," and with a brief nod, the younger man left.

And so Arthur began to read. As he read, he began to feel a little excited. Then uneasy, then excited again. For the more he learned, the more he realised the implications. The allegations were very serious. And there was a lot of evidence that bore the allegations out already. And if they could be proven before a Court, more than a few pillars of English society could end up behind bars guilty of war treason. And for the first time in a very long time, Arthur Farnham smiled.

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Mary would never have believed that the horror of what she had endured firstly with Kamal, and then with Richard might ever be of use. But here it was: as she struggled to comfort her distraught maid and friend at her hospital bedside, she was able to understand and empathise with Anna's irrational sense that she was to blame in a way that neither Mrs Hughes nor Anna's husband could.

"He saw that I recognised him!" she sobbed. "I shouldn't have given myself away!" she kept saying, over and over.

"He followed you, Anna! Before you had even seen him, to know who he was! He is a bad man. It is inexcusable that he set upon you like he did! He did it deliberately. Nothing you did, nothing at all warranted him attacking you." Mary repeated for the umpteenth time.

"It looks so bad," Anna continued tearfully. "What if John doubts me? Thinks I led Mr Green on?"

"Bates knows the truth, my dear," Mary reassured her yet again. "He knows it wasn't you! You are the good person in all this, Anna! Mr Green is the villain!"

"How can you so sure of what John thinks?" she choked.

"Because of what he has been telling everyone: Of what Barrow said to him when he tried to get him to leave the concert. Of what he saw: How very brave you were. How all you were worried about when he finally got to you was Barrow! He is so very proud. All of us are. We really are," Mary remonstrated, taking her maid's hand and pressing it against hers.

"But I wasn't brave," Anna began to sob again. "I… I was so very frightened. I was scared half to death."

"Of course you were," Mary soothed. "You were dealing with a monster. Anyone would have been afraid. And I'll bet, when Barrow is well enough to talk, he'll say he was afraid too."

"Do you think so?" Anna sniffed, dabbing ineffectually at her eyes with her sodden handkerchief.

"I know so," Mary said resolutely.

0-0-0-0-0-0

"I'm glad Miss Haversham sent you," Matthew said to Sybil as she met them at the entrance to the hospital in Shepherd's Bush. "She would have all the right words of course, but you're a friendly face. And today I feel I need one," he sighed heavily.

"Oh Matthew," she touched his arm briefly. She and Mary glanced at each other. He really wasn't good. The last few days had put years on him, and the latest police revelation that Green was now thought to be part of a crime ring suspected in a chain of brutal attacks had further soured his mood. Mary was hardly much better: walking slowly alongside Matthew, she looked completely drained. As if the last few months hadn't been demanding enough, she, like Matthew, was deeply shaken by what had happened to their closest staff.

With Green still at large, Anna was too terrified to be left alone, and Mary, Mrs Hughes and Mr Bates had been taking turns to always have one of them with her. Matthew remained concerned about Barrow, and whilst he had visited, he hadn't yet had the chance to speak with him: Barrow was still too groggy, with concussion and severe pain - Green's brutal fists had dislocated his jaw.

As a result, it had been with considerable reluctance that they had both departed Downton that morning for the trip to London and Matthew's appointment.

As they proceeded towards Doctor Jones's office, Sybil, for her part, felt a sense of relief they were seeing him at last: Matthew's extreme tiredness had been concerning her for a while now, and none of the other doctors or the more senior therapists seemed to have had an answer: they had just kept encouraging him to keep putting the effort in, reassuring him it would get easier. But it hadn't.

_I just hope he can say what's going on_, she thought grimly. _For Matthew and Mary's sakes!_

Doctor Jones greeted them warmly as he welcomed them into his book-lined office, his friendly smile an immediate tonic to the solemn group. Acknowledging Mary's now unmistakeable bump, he added, "and Lady Mary. Mr Crawley told me some time ago of your happy news! Please let me offer you my very best wishes. And you must promise me you will bring your bundle of joy along to one of Mr Crawley's future check ups – I shall be delighted to meet your little one!"

Mary smiled, in spite of herself. Despite it happening frequently now, she still felt a thrill of delight when people congratulated her. She was pleased to see that Matthew, too, had managed a smile at the Doctor's words.

The appointment began with Doctor Jones asking Sybil some questions about Miss Haversham's report. He then sought Matthew's response to a number of the matters raised. When they got onto the matter of his tiredness, Mary couldn't help but feel shocked at just how badly it had been affecting her husband: having been apart most weeks until the last she hadn't realised the extent. Matthew didn't hold anything back, but he was clearly unhappy at what he was made to relay, especially having to admit how his work had been suffering.

When the interview concluded, they sat quietly and waited whilst Doctor Jones wrote down a few notes to complete his report. Eventually, he capped his fountain pen and leant back in his chair.

Looking across at Matthew, he cleared his throat. All of them stiffened slightly, aware from the changed expression on his face that what he was about to say was not good news.

"Mr Crawley," he began. "First of all, I would like to thank you for your willingness to have been a part of yet another trial. Medicine, as you will know from your father growing up is a field in which an awful lot remains unknown, and having patients prepared to be part of trials is an invaluable way through which we can learn and improve our treatments.

"However," he said delicately, "the strength tests conducted with you last week showed no improvement from the tests conducted in mid-October when the trial began."

"None at all?" Matthew looked shocked.

The Doctor shook his head. "None. And therefore I am going to recommend to Miss Haversham that you cease your participation in the trial forthwith," he paused, "because it is my belief it's now doing you more harm than good." Matthew started to ask something and then stopped. Doctor Jones continued. "Your symptoms indicate that you have been doing too much. You have already sustained some minor injuries. I am worried that if you continue you may injure yourself more seriously. When your sense of touch is so compromised it is hard for you to know when that is the case."

"Except through referred pain," Sybil pondered aloud. "Doctor Jones, does that explain why Matthew has had bouts of severe back pain these past weeks? And why the muscle spasms have been more frequent?"

"Yes on both counts," he answered soberly.

Mary saw Matthew wince, and her heart went out to him. This was not what he wanted to be hearing.

"And what about the tiredness?" Sybil persisted.

Doctor Jones paused and put his fingers together in a steeple shape. "That has been the most vexing question," he frowned. "Mr Crawley, I took the liberty of discussing your case with Doctor Head, whom as Nurse Branson knows, is one of our visiting neurologists with expertise in spinal injuries. He confirmed with me that this is a pattern that he has also seen among patients with incomplete injuries similar to yours." Matthew nodded, and he went on.

"Doctor Head is of the view that the tiredness directly relates to the overuse of the muscles, as we have just discussed. He believes it is not something that will disappear with time. Instead, as you have found, Mr Crawley, more intensive therapy will make it worse," he gave Matthew a serious look.

"But how can that be?" Mary asked. "It's not like Matthew has been training to be an athlete. It has just been therapy to improve his walking."

"Your husband uses a lot more energy than you or I do just to stand and walk," Doctor Jones explained kindly. "It requires a lot of upper body strength. There is also a lot of extra stress on the muscles that have at least some function to compensate for those that have no function at all."

Matthew stared straight ahead, tapping his fingers together. "So walking will stay hard," he said flatly. Doctor Jones gave a solemn nod. "It won't get easier," Doctor Jones nodded again. "Ever," Matthew added and this time the bitterness in his tone was unmistakeable.

"No," Doctor Jones said a little sadly. "I wish I could say otherwise, but I cannot."

There was a silence in the room. Matthew looked into the distance, his lips pressed tightly together. It was a bitter blow. After the months and months of effort; the slow but steady progress until the last difficult weeks; the finality of these statements were a shock.

Matthew glanced sideways at his wife. Mary was twisting her handkerchief and there was sadness in her eyes. A wave of hopelessness came over him. He had failed her. Failed his mother, and failed himself. He closed his eyes and rocked slightly, wishing the floor would open and swallow him up.

"And… so what can Matthew do to be less tired?" Sybil's matter-of-fact tone interrupted his destructive train of thought.

"Walk less," Doctor Jones said simply. "Use the wheelchair some of the time."

His straightforward reply brought Matthew further back to his senses. _Pull yourself together, Crawley _he told himself._ And show some manners. It's not the good Doctors fault you got downed by a German shell and left with a broken body._ He took a deep breath and made himself look at Doctor Jones as he continued to speak. "Some patients do their walking as part of their daily therapy only. Others walk at home, and use a chair when out and about," he explained. "Mr Crawley, it will be up to you to establish a routine that conserves your energy, yet still sees you maintain the benefits to your life expectancy from standing and walking, for some of each day." Matthew gave a tight nod.

"To assist you in that," he looked down at his notes. "I'm going to recommend an appointment weekly with Miss Haversham for the next month. I'll also be asking her to reassess your exercise and stretching programme. Maintaining your overall fitness and upper body strength remains of utmost importance." Matthew nodded again, and this time he managed to say, "thank you, Sir."

Doctor Jones surveyed him for a minute, knowing full well what was going on for the young man. This was a version of a conversation he had held many, many times in the course of his service as an Army Doctor. Conversations that the passage of time had not made them any easier to conduct.

"I know this is difficult for you Mr Crawley," he stated. "All I can do is urge that you to focus on what you have gained these past months, and what it is you can do. We've all been mightily impressed with the effort you have put in," he smiled. "And I feel it's important to emphasise that as a result, you have got quite a way beyond where I privately thought we might ever get you with your recovery. I just wish the damage was less extensive and we could work with you towards even more improvement. But unfortunately, that is not to be."

"Thank you, Sir," Matthew said at last. "It's not been the easiest of news. But then this week hasn't been the easiest of weeks," he gave a heavy sigh.

"Your Valet," Doctor Jones frowned, shaking his head. "Of course."

"Yes. But in a strange way, it's almost better to hear this now. When I get through this horrid week the only way will be up," Matthew said, trying to sound positive.

"That's the attitude," Doctor Jones looked at him approvingly. He gathered the papers on his desk and returned them to the file before closing it. "I'll forward a copy of my report to Miss Haversham and your regular doctor. And please, if you have any further concerns, do ask for an appointment. Otherwise, I'll see you for our scheduled check up in six months time."

0-0-0-0-0-0

Barrow's face lit up with relief when he saw Anna making her way slowly down the ward towards his bed assisted by a young nurse. His first slurred whisper to Doctor Clarkson the previous day when both his grogginess and the pain in his jaw had lessened to the point where he could speak, had been, "Anna. Anna. S'll right?" And when Doctor Clarkson had gently reassured him that she was, he had cried. At which, the usually dry Doctor Clarkson had patted him kindly on the shoulder and said, "and that she is Mr Barrow, is in no doubt thanks to you. You're quite the hero here and up at the big house!" and Barrow had felt a rare sense of genuine pride in his own actions.

The nurse found Anna a seat and helped her to sit, and the two of them looked at each other for a long moment.

"Oh, Mr Barrow," Anna said finally, and she couldn't suppress a sob at the sight of his badly beaten face.

"S'all right," he smiled as much as his aching jaw would let him.

"It better be!" Anna choked. "But it's going to take a while. You poor old thing!" she shook her head, distraught at the damage Green had so brutally inflicted. He nodded and attempted another smile, and Anna continued.

"I had to come. To thank you! You saved my life," her voice trembled a little. "You know that don't you?"

"I know," Barrow whispered. "…' heard what he said… what he intended…" His eyes darkened at the memory of the terrible scene he had witnessed. "Bad man… very bad." Anna gulped and nodded.

Barrow took a deep breath and said cautiously, "Did… Did he …?" he dreaded the answer but felt he must know all the same.

To his relief, Anna shook her head. "He… you… stopped him just before…" her mouth quivered. "And then John came. Just in time," she bit her lip. "But if you hadn't come..." she pressed her hands together to try and stop them shaking.

"Whew," Barrow sighed with relief, shakily reaching to pat her hand. " 's… something! Thank bloody God," he swallowed, and despite her own tears beginning again, Anna nodded and even managed a wan smile. They sat quietly and Barrow shut his eyes for a few minutes. When he opened them again, he saw that Anna had a question for him.

"Mr Barrow, can I ask you something," her voice was just above a whisper. "Were you… afraid?"

He straightened a little and looked directly at her. After a moment he nodded. "Yes," he said his voice low. "Very," he shivered. "Never seen such hate!" His eyes grew dark. "Not even in the blasted trenches," and upon hearing his admission, it took almost all of Anna's self-control to avoid bursting into loud sobs of relief.

0-0-0-0-0-0

It was a sombre group that left the hospital. When they reached the waiting cab, Sybil asked Matthew what he wanted to do and he muttered, "Get some fresh air." She nodded and directed the cab driver to a spot she knew of nearby on the riverside where there was shelter from the wind and a park bench. She asked that he return for them in half an hour: it was cold and whilst they had hats and coats, any longer outside and they would all risk chills.

When they reached the bench, Sybil took herself off for a brief walk, leaving her sister and brother-in-law alone.

There was a desolate beauty to the iron-grey expanse. The call of waterfowl and the lapping of the waves against the riverbank were the only sound. Matthew hunched forward with his elbows on his knees, lost in his own thoughts.

Mary sat bolt upright, hands clasped rigidly in her lap. She wanted to tell him he didn't need to think. What could he think? There was nothing to think and no one to blame, except the blasted war of course, and what use was that. This was it. With all the unfinished-ness, the imperfectness, the hopes of more recovery raised but not fulfilled.

But she couldn't say it. Whatever she said would not be right. So instead she sat motionlessly, churning inside, angry she couldn't comfort him. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes and she squeezed the lids together furiously.

She heard something scrabbling, and then a splash. Then another. And another. She opened her eyes. Matthew had reached down for some pebbles and was skimming them across the water. And then, with the end of his stick, he dug a rock out of the ground and picked it up. His forceful throw saw it arc high and long, and when it landed, quite some distance out, the splash was so resounding that geese paddling nearby took to the air in alarm, in a cacophony of honking and flapping.

She looked at him impassively. He returned her gaze, his face expressionless, and then he looked back to the ground again to unearth another rock. This one reached even further, but the geese had gone, and this time all that could be heard was the slap when the rock hit the water. Hunching forward again, he put his head in his hands and scrubbed his face.

A little hesitantly, Mary placed her hand on his shoulder. He flinched but didn't pull away, and a moment later he reached up and patted her hand briefly. But neither of them spoke until Sybil returned to say the cab was approaching and it was time to go.

0-0-0-0-0-0

"And what is the latest?" Mr Carson sat down heavily at the table in Mrs Hughes's sitting room a few minutes after the police officer had left.

"Well. It seems that thanks to our photograph, they have been able to confirm who the fellow who claimed to be Edna's brother actually is. A well-known con man apparently. An expert in disguise, as we saw! There's also mention of a real brother, who is suspected to be a professional forger. And his description matches that of the other man who had been about the village asking strange questions." Mrs Hughes had to stop herself from continuing, sorely tempted to share her suspicions that the notes professing to be between Lord Grantham and Jane Moorsum were his work. But Mr Carson was unaware of the existence of the notes. And best for all concerned that it was kept that way.

"And how's the cut on your head? Feeling any better?" she changed the subject slightly.

"A little. Still a bit tender, I'll admit." Mr Carson gingerly touched the bandage on the side of his head. He pursed his lips, pondering the year that had been, and the dramatic events of the past week. "This. And all the muckraking about his Lordship! It isn't just Sir Richard Carlisle's doing, is it?" Mr Carson knitted his eyebrows. "There is something bigger going on."

"It is certainly starting to look that way," Mrs Hughes nodded soberly. "Although exactly what, the Lord only knows!" She shivered. "And for a start, let's just hope they find that brute quickly. And then we will all be able to sleep a little easier," and Mr Carson had to agree.

0-0-0-0-0-0

"Thank you for suggesting this," Mary's voice shook a little, as Sybil turned the key in the lock and gestured her sister through into the flat's small sitting room.

"You both needed some looking after," Sybil replied matter-of-factly. "Tom is going to suggest to Alex they take Matthew to the pub. And with Clarissa away, I thought you should come back with me. In the hope I can cheer you up a little," Sybil tried to get a smile out of her solemn-faced sister.

Sitting down with a groan, her back again a little irritated by her pregnancy, Mary looked across at Sybil. "I feel for him so much," her voice caught. "He's worked so hard with so very little complaint and now he finds out it will never be enough! It just seems so unfair."

"It's not easy to accept I'll say that," Sybil eyed her sympathetically. "But unfortunately, fairness never comes into it where damage inflicted by war is concerned."

"I know," Mary sighed. "And what's the worst of it for me, is that I can't seem to comfort him! He can be so prickly when he is like this. So I keep quiet. But that doesn't help me!" she blinked rapidly.

"Of course it doesn't," Sybil's voice was soft. "You want to be able to work through this together. And he's gone into his shell! But it is common you know. That's one thing I've seen so much, nursing these men the past few years. When men are upset they seem to need to retreat. A lot of them anyway! Not Papa of course," she shrugged. "He's just always yelled!"

Despite herself, Mary couldn't help smiling at Sybil's words, and Sybil giggled too, thinking of their hot-tempered father. Her face became serious again as she continued with what she had been saying. "And of course, your Matthew has a very strong sense of how things should be," she pursed her lips. "And being a bit stubborn and a bit of a perfectionist means accepting what is, can be hard for him. Right now, he'll be feeling that he has let you down."

"But he hasn't!" Mary raised her voice. "How much he recovers has never mattered. Never, ever! I mean I have obviously wanted it for him and his health," she qualified, "But in terms of us, goddamn it I would have married him bedridden! We're meant to be together, he and I!"

"And in his heart, he knows that," Sybil replied gently. "He just needs some space to reconcile it all."

"Well I hope it won't take long," Mary choked. "I need him, Sybil!" a tear ran down her cheek, and she dabbed at it furiously with her handkerchief.

_"Matthew, try and put your wife first in all of this,"_ Sybil found herself thinking. _"She's carrying your child for god's sake!" _But even as she thought it she found herself asking whether it was fair. News like this was surely hard for anyone to take. _What if it were me?_ she thought. _How would I feel?_

"Give him some time," Sybil answered at last. "It's been a horrible afternoon for him. On top of a horrible week, and a not so flash couple of months!

"Alex and Tom will help you know. And if he continues to brood, get Evelyn to talk to him."

Mary laughed, despite her tears. "So some time to retreat and lick his wounds. And then I put him to the lion to make him see it's time to be my husband again."

"Something like that," Sybil gave her a wan smile. They stared at each other pensively for a moment, and then Sybil shook herself and stood up.

"Well. How about we eat. It will probably make us both feel a lot better! And I don't know about you, but I'm starving."

Sybil's housekeeper, Mrs Parkes, had prepared a simple but tasty meal that she had left to keep warm in the oven. Mary ate hungrily. Initially, she was surprised at her own appetite, but then she remembered how little she had been able to eat at breakfast and lunch, so nervous she had been for what was to come at Matthew's appointment. "She does a nice roast mutton," she commented to Sybil as they ate.

"She does. We've been a bit lucky. Cooking wasn't really her background, but she's befriended an older woman in our block who is a retired cook. She offered to teach Ethel. She also minds her baby when she's on the stove. A good arrangement that we have been the beneficiaries of!"

"I'll say. And I'm pleased you haven't had to worry about that side of things when you have been so busy with all of your study," Mary remarked.

"Yes," Sybil's face clouded for a moment. "Well," she shrugged a little hopelessly.

"What is it?" Mary asked, sensing something wasn't right. In fact, she'd known something wasn't right with her sister since the weekend, but with everything else that had been going on there had been no chance until now to ask her about it. To her horror, Sybil burst into tears.

"Oh Mary, I'm so worried about my exams. They were hard. Very hard! And, and… I ran out of time and didn't finish the Latin paper," she sobbed.

"Oh darling," Mary reached across the table to pat her sister's arm sympathetically. "We are a pair tonight! I'm sure you'll be fine. You put in a lot of work."

"I hope so," Sybil hiccupped. "But the last few nights I've had this same, awful dream where I find out I haven't passed a single one. And Doctor Jones has turned into this monstrous figure and he is telling me off and saying they are dismissing me from the Hospital! Mary, I wish I wasn't so goddamn stupid," she wrung her hands.

"You are not stupid. Far from it," Mary said firmly. "Getting into this field of work is very different to anything you ever had growing up. We had very little instruction in the way of science or languages! That's why it's hard."

"And our education shouldn't have been so wanting," Sybil remonstrated. "It is so unfair. All of us would have been better off born boys."

Mary pursed her lips. She felt for her sister. But there was nothing either of them could do about their past. The only thing that mattered now was the present and the future. She just prayed Sybil had scraped her examinations.

"How about we have some of that pudding," she said at last. "And a cup of tea."

Sybil nodded and gulped. She stood and went next door to the bathroom to wash her face and hands. Mary pushed herself to her feet and went to fill the kettle. She lit the gas stove and put it on, thankful it was similar to the model they had installed in the Land Agent office. She brought the lemon pudding to the table and set about plating it up.

When Sybil returned she was calm again, and her face wore a resolute expression. She sat down and addressed her sister. "Mary," she began. "Can you promise me something?"

"Depends on what it is," Mary smiled.

"If your little baby is a daughter, or if any future child you have is a daughter, promise me you will give her a proper education!"

"Of course!" Mary's smile widened. "On that matter, you will be pleased to know, Matthew and I have already agreed."

"You have already talked about it?" Sybil was surprised.

"We have. As a matter of fact, it followed a conversation very similar to the one you and I have just had. Except of course, in that case, it was me who was complaining and not you!" Sybil began to laugh, and over mouthfuls of Mrs Parkes's fragrant dessert, they began to talk of other things, enjoying the rare opportunity to catch up as the two of them alone.

0-0-0-0-0-0

"How was it?" Alex asked nervously. Matthew had just arrived back from his appointment to the residence and he didn't like the expression on his friend's face.

"Tough," Matthew muttered. "Can we…"

"Have a drink?" Alex interrupted, deciding instantly he needed one himself, and Matthew nodded. "Where's Mary?" Alex frowned.

"She's gone to have a meal with Sybil. Sister talk. Probably knew I wouldn't be good company tonight," Matthew grimaced.

Alex raised an eyebrow and led his friend through to the drawing room.

Fortified by the snifter of peaty single malt that Giles served a few minutes later, Matthew explained what he had been told by Doctor Jones.

"So, hang on a minute," Alex sounded relieved. "You're not sick? You've just been doing too much?"

"That's right. I'm not sick. But I can't sustain being on my feet as much as I have been," Matthew sounded defeated.

"Well, thank god that's all it is!" Alex gave an audible sigh. "I was terrified it was something serious. Some awful complication," he swallowed. "Both of us have been as worried as hell.

"And this is all it is? Thank god for that!" he repeated and he smiled at Matthew.

Matthew looked at him, incredulous. "You don't think this is big deal? That I'm not going to lose the bloody chair?"

"Well, of course, it is for you. I mean, hell, if it were me being told this was it, no more improvement, I wouldn't be feeling like a box of firecrackers either," Alex admitted, "but as your friend," he shook his head. "Well. Yes. I'm relieved as hell," his voice cracked a little.

"Because you thought I was ill," Matthew said lamely.

Alex nodded. "I couldn't…" he stopped and looked away, his fingers tapping nervously on the side of his glass. He couldn't say it, but Matthew knew. _"I couldn't lose another friend you bastard! Especially not you! Not now!"_

"Oh," Matthew took a mouthful of whisky and stared into the distance.

Alex stared at the fire. "I don't know what to say, old boy," he said eventually. "You survived when the Doctors didn't think you would. And you've had an amazing recovery from where you were. But now you know it can't ever be a full one." he shook his head and shrugged.

"I don't know what I feel," Matthew said flatly. "A bit hopeless I guess," he set his jaw. "These last awful months all for nought."

"Not really," Alex countered. "You got yourself off the crutches and you've got better with your balance. And this last period has at least taught you your limits."

"Which I don't want to face," Matthew said heavily. "It feels like giving in."

Alex gazed at him, pondering his words for a moment. "So you're saying you think you should be walking all of the time, at all costs because otherwise, it's giving in," he stated.

Matthew shrugged. "I suppose."

"But is it giving in?" he challenged. "Or is it looking after yourself so that you can concentrate at work. And not be endlessly grumping at your wife? And for god's sake old boy," Alex frowned. "You're going to be a father soon. Don't you want to be able to enjoy your child without being dog-tired?"

Matthew looked down at his glass and swirled the pale liquid round and round, mulling over Alex's words.

A while later, when both of them agreed they had talked the subject out, Alex passed on Tom's suggestion that they go to the pub. "He called a few minutes before you got back," Alex explained. "How about it?"

Matthew frowned. "Perhaps," he contemplated. He sighed. "All right. I suppose it's better than staying here sulking."

"I would think so," Alex replied, and with that settled, he rang for Giles to get a message to Tom at his office before he left for the day.

0-0-0-0-0-0

"Mary. Mary!" someone's voice broke into her dream and Mary startled awake. Where was she? Momentarily confused, she realised she was on the sofa in front of the fire in the Shipton's drawing room.

"Did you fall asleep?" The voice belonged to Alex, and looking up she saw he was smiling. There was a red tinge to his cheeks and the tip of his nose that told her he was a little tipsy.

"I must have," Mary's voice was rough from her nap. She pushed herself up slowly. "I wasn't ready for bed when I got back from Sybil's so I decided to read." Sure enough, looking around she saw that the book she had been reading had fallen to the floor. "Where's Matthew?"

Alex's grin widened a little. "We've put him to bed. Decided not to disturb Alfred! He, ah, well…" he chortled.

"You got him drunk?" Mary didn't know whether to laugh or get cross.

"He got himself that way. I suppose I could have said something when he asked for his fifth whisky…"

"Oh good heavens," Mary rolled her eyes. "Don't tell me anymore! I just hope he doesn't have a meeting first thing."

"He doesn't," Alex said immediately. "He's got another day of leave – arranged in case the hospital had wanted him back. Although I do want him in for our staff meeting in the afternoon since he's here."

"Good, well he can sleep it off in the morning then," Mary put her hand to her mouth to cover a yawn. "I had better get to bed now too."

"You had better! A lot more comfortable than this sofa," Alex grinned. He held out his hand and helped her to her feet.

"And thank you, Alex," Mary said. "You are so very good to him. Well, to us both."

"As you are to me," a shadow crossed Alex's face. Trying not to think of his own troubles, he said, "He'll be all right you know."

"I know he will," Mary nodded. She sighed. "And thank you again for being there."

0-0-0-0-0-0

Upon their arrival back to Downton on Thursday afternoon, Matthew went immediately to see Barrow, having heard from his mother who had met them at the station, that he was now able to talk. Barrow was sitting up, a nurse having just brought through a cup of tea. One eye was swollen shut. The rest of the face was mottled yellow and purple and a long line of stitches held together a deep cut from his hairline to his swollen jaw. Matthew's heart lurched. Somehow the colour of the bruising working its way out made his face look even worse than it had in the immediate aftermath.

"Barrow. Bloody hell! By God, I'm pleased to see you awake! We've been terribly worried," Matthew struggled to keep his tone light.

"Sir," Barrow's lips turned upwards, the best he could manage by way of a smile.

"I'm so sorry," Matthew continued. "That this happened and we didn't see it coming! I really am." He was rambling, repeating what he had already said when he had visited the barely conscious Barrow before departing for London.

"Why ' you apologising?" Barrow interrupted, slurring, which was as much as his damaged jaw would let him. "… Not your fault. You didn't know. Photo, you hadn't seen…" he had to stop, as the ache in his jaw went from thumping to stabbing.

"Mrs Hughes told us," Matthew replied, the lucidity of Barrow's reply calming him a little. "And Maurice filled me in on the rest."

"You talked?" Barrow said in disbelief.

"Of course," Matthew said firmly. "He needed to know. I'll call him again now I've seen you too. Oh, and he asked that I convey to you his best wishes for a speedy recovery."

"… Sir," Barrow was overcome by his employer's thoughtfulness. He was quiet a moment, and then shifted painfully. "Speedy… If only…" he grimaced. "… be a while… Sir, how… how you going to manage?" he looked worried.

Matthew gave him a wry smile. "At times like this I think I am supposed to reassure you and say I will be fine, and that no one is indispensable. However, in your case, Barrow, I would be lying. You will be amused to know it is taking three people to replace you."

"Sir?" Barrow raised an eyebrow, his lips again turning upwards.

"Yes. Three," Matthew repeated. "Mary is going to be my driver. Mother is coming in morning and night to help with my stretching routine, and we've borrowed Alfred to be my Valet," he chuckled. "So you see, Barrow. You are, after all, indispensable."

Barrow's lips had curled into the most of a smile he could manage. "… Sir!"

Matthew grinned. "And it goes without saying I will be pleased as punch when I can have you back! But," he added hastily. "Not until you are properly healed. We can't have two walking wounded in our household. I drive my poor wife mad enough as it is."

"… that be right Sir!" Barrow's eyes crinkled with mirth.

A while later, after Matthew had updated Barrow on the latest in the hunt for Green, he finally broached the subject he should have raised weeks earlier, asking Barrow whether he was interested in becoming their Butler. As Matthew ran through the conditions, Barrow was astonished to hear the position included exclusive use of the self-contained flat over the garage. When Barrow sought to clarify if that included the freedom to have guests to stay, Matthew replied, "of course."

"And… L… Lady Mary?" Barrow asked cautiously.

"It was her idea," Matthew replied to Barrow's utter amazement. "You have proven your loyalty to us both this past year. And now with what you did for Anna…" he smiled.

Barrow couldn't trust himself to speak. A position as Butler to the future Earl of Grantham was attractive enough. But to have it offered such that it did not need to come at the price of seeing less of Maurice was beyond what he could ever have imagined.

"Think about it," Matthew said after a pause. "You will have a footman to assist you of course, but it will still be a lot more work." He put his hands on his wheels. "For now I'd best be off. The police are back around shortly to tell us where they are at tracking Green."

"Y 'll right?" Barrow frowned registering for the first time that Matthew was in his wheelchair.

"Long story," Matthew's face fell a little. "Doctors orders to stop the tiredness."

"Ah," Barrow said knowingly. "… been wondering," he nodded at him. "Tell me next time."

"I will," Matthew promised, and the two men bade each other goodbye.

0-0-0-0-0-0

"Chief Inspector Wilkinson," Alfred announced, as he showed the stooped man through to the Vicarage drawing-room later that afternoon.

"We've a breakthrough Lady Mary, Sir," he went straight to the point. "A gentleman fitting the description of Mr Alexander Green was found collapsed outside the York Infirmary this morning. Upon his admittance, it was found that in addition to facial injuries sustained in his collapse, he had also sustained serious damage to… well a rather delicate area," the Inspector's moustache twitched. "Refused to say what happened! But as luck would have it, a sharp-eyed nurse had seen our 'wanted' poster and slipped out to call the police whilst he was being examined."

"Where is the fellow now?" Matthew asked.

"In the hospital under police guard. He is scheduled for an urgent operation this evening," the Inspector frowned. "He is being rather obstructive, to be honest. Refuses to confirm who he is, despite our photographs," he shook his head. "His face is cut and badly bruised, however. So to be on the safe side, we've asked Lord Gillingham to make a positive identification."

"When will Lord Gillingham be able to do so?" Mary enquired.

"He's travelling to York on the morrow," replied the Inspector. Mary and Matthew glanced at each other.

Addressing the Inspector, Matthew said, "This is very good news. Especially for Mrs Bates and Mr Barrow! Inspector, please accept our heartfelt thanks – you and your team of officers. We have felt well served by the North Riding Constabulary this past difficult week."

Matthew's calm and upbeat words belied his inner turmoil: Whilst thrilled that Green had been apprehended, he knew that once there was a positive identification, their chances of keeping Green's arrest and whereabouts under wraps were nigh on impossible. Both he and Mary had come to the conclusion Green would need protection if he were to be of use in the case against Doncourt and his cronies. They needed to work out a plan.

As soon as she heard the front door shut behind the Inspector, Mary turned to her husband and said immediately. "I'll get hold of Tony. He's our only hope to keep this under wraps."

Matthew's face broke into a wide smile, his first real smile for days. "You must have been reading my mind!"

"Perhaps," Mary raised an eyebrow. "Great minds think alike. Isn't that what they say?" she quipped, pleased to see his smile, her own mood much lighter too after hearing the Inspector's news. Batting her eyelashes at him, she stood up, stretched out her aching back, and went to use the telephone in the hall.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Arthur Farnham had just closed his suitcase and was reaching for his coat and scarf ready to depart for the wharf and his ship when there was a knock on his hotel room door.

"Come in," he called, and a bellboy entered with a tray, upon which was a small envelope.

"A message for you, Sir," the lad gave a slight bow. "The fellow who brought it in said it was urgent."

Arthur removed the envelope from the tray and nodded his thanks. The lad turned and left. Walking to the desk, Arthur picked up the letter knife and slit the envelope open, retrieving the small piece of paper from inside. He quickly unfolded it and inhaled sharply when he read the words.

_"New information on WH. Delay your return. Meet me at the office. 1:00pm. B."_

Frowning, Arthur stood silently for a minute. What was this new information? His heart began to beat fast. It had to be significant for them to ask that he stay on. Folding the note up again, he slipped it into his pocket and opened his briefcase to find the papers he would need to re-arrange his travel. And then taking up his purse and the room key, he headed for the elevator to reception.

0-0-0-0-0-0

"It was a rather odd message," Violet began frowning. _"Kenneth will write. Protect him."_ Literally just that," she shook her head. "Do we know who this 'Kenneth' is?" It was Christmas Eve, and Violet was recounting to Mary and Matthew the message from her rendezvous with PI Craddock the day before.

"He said Kenneth will write?" Matthew repeated, and if Violet hadn't been so unsure of the message, she would have sworn her grandson-in-law looked pleased.

"Yes. And pray do tell, who on earth is this Kenneth?" she asked again.

"The war correspondent who was charged with war treason at the same time as Richard," Mary explained. "He is in Pentonville as well."

"Aha," Violet suddenly realised the significance of the message. "So he, or by the sounds, they both, are going to confess! And do we take from 'Kenneth will write' that this will be in some public manner?" she looked from Mary to Matthew and back again.

"I think we do," Matthew said at last. "I think it's a signal that Carlisle has accepted he can't win, and that, as we thought, he intends not only to confess but to also take these other accomplices down with him," he shook his head. "I must say, it would be rather clever of him if he does manage to do that in a public manner, all from inside!"

"But why?" mused Mary. "An admission of guilt and simply naming the others would reduce his sentence without him needing to go to all this trouble to furnish an entire case against them. Have they wronged him, perhaps, in the past?"

"Or do they have something else on him that if revealed could cast doubt on his testimony?" Violet said darkly.

"It could be both I suppose," Mary frowned.

"And what about him letting that thug loose at the Abbey," Matthew's voice was hard. "What was going on there? A pretty extreme way to make it look like he was continuing to try and intimidate Lord Grantham!"

"Extreme, but perhaps required to keep Doncourt from knowing what he's really up to?" Mary pondered. "Because, of course, if he had really intended to intimidate Papa, he would have released my scandal, given he now has so little left to lose. But for some reason he hasn't."

They all looked at each other, none of them able to make Carlisle out.

"And aren't we just as contradictory with what we are planning?" Violet remarked eventually. "Aiding and abetting the actions of a man complicit in a brutal attack on some dear staff?" There was an uncomfortable silence as the three of them pondered her words. "So be it," Violet gave a heavy sigh. "The world and the things we are made to do in it can be very strange at times. And continuing with strange tasks, the next question we must answer, of course, is how on earth we might do something to protect this Kenneth fellow when he is already surrounded day and night by a whole bevvy of guards!"

"You know, there is someone who could probably help us with that very thing," Mary considered. "Someone with experience on the inside. And someone, I understand from Anna, who may have a friend amongst the Pentonville jailers. Matthew?" Mary looked across at her husband. "I think it's time you and I sat down with Bates."

0-0-0-0-0-0

It was the weekend after Christmas. Stepping into the lobby of their building carrying a fresh loaf of bread, Tom found the postman busy placing letters in various residents' letterboxes. Theirs was the last letterbox, so after exchanging greetings, Tom asked if there were any in his bundle for Branson he could take straight away. Looking through them, the postman extracted three letters and passed them to Tom. He took a quick look as he walked towards the stairs. One was from his mother. Another, he recognised from the handwriting, was from Edith. The third was an official-looking envelope addressed to Mrs T Branson, with 'Bedford College' stamped in the corner.

"Her exam results, I'll bet," he muttered to himself, and he hurried upstairs to their flat to find her.

He watched anxiously whilst she ran the paper knife along the edge of the envelope and removed the letter. Smoothing out the paper, she began to read, and to his relief, she saw her face break into a smile.

"I passed Tom. I passed them all!" her voice was a little tremulous. "Oh," she laughed a little nervously. "By just three marks in the Latin!

"But, Oh," her face lit up. "Look what I got in the science!" she pushed the paper across the table to him. The mark was 73%.

"Well, that's something to be proud of!" Tom looked across at her admiringly. "For a girl who never had much of that subject at all growing up!"

He stood up and held his arms out. "Come here. That deserves a very big kiss!" and laughing, they embraced and kissed, and then Tom let out a whoop and danced her around the floor.

"It's still only the first step. I have to apply and be accepted, of course," Sybil mused when they were seated again and enjoying a celebratory cup of tea. "Passing the courses just gives me that option!"

"That's true. But what about that work Doctor Clarkson had published recently about the trial? You're listed as an author! More than a few people talking about it, isn't there? I mean, with that foreword from Doctor Jones commending the research, and naming you as one of those involved! That's going to mean a lot, surely," Sybil nodded. "Yes. I suppose it is," she smiled. "It should. Oh, Tom! I want this so very much!" and she clasped his hands and the two of them shared another joyful kiss.

0-0-0-0-0-0

"If it's fine tomorrow, I thought you and I might like to go for a ride," Mary announced, climbing into bed beside her husband.

"Take the horses out?" Matthew asked. "What a marvellous idea." He hadn't yet ridden with Mary at Downton. He had been out with Sybil and Lynch a few times, getting to know his new horse and familiarising himself with the modifications Lynch had made for him in the yards. He felt a little thrill of anticipation at the prospect. But upon noticing that Mary was rubbing her back, he frowned and said suddenly, "But should we? Is it safe for a pregnant woman?"

"Of course," Mary scoffed, continuing to rub her back. "It's not as though I've begun my confinement! And besides. Women have been riding horses for millennia at all stages in their child-bearing!"

"All right, all right. Forgive me," Matthew put his hands up, knowing immediately this was not an argument he would win. "But promise me you won't do anything mad like leap over things," Matthew leant across to kiss her. "Because I'd worry."

"Promise," Mary caught his hand. "And if you must know, all I wanted was a gentle ride that we can enjoy together," she smiled. "Although I do want to show you the latest plans for the farms that Anthony and I have been discussing whilst we're at it," she looked slightly guilty.

"No rest for the wicked I see," Matthew murmured, kissing her again. "Can't keep you mind off work even when it's a holiday!"

"It's more that I'd like to get some of the major decisions made, and the work under way before my confinement," Mary admitted.

"Of course. And rest assured that we will," Matthew said confidently.

Mary smiled. She was getting her Matthew back. He had his quiet days, and she knew he was grieving for the further recovery that would never be. But with the cessation of the trial, and the chance afforded by the Christmas holiday to rest and sleep, he had begun to get on top of the tiredness. And as his energy had started to return, so had his good temper.

"It's so wonderful to see you so rested and relaxed," she murmured.

"I'm enjoying being in our home," he said simply.

"And I'm enjoying having **you** back at home," Mary's eyes were bright.

He hummed and batted his eyelashes at her in an alarmingly alluring fashion, and a current ran between them. They studied each other for a long moment and then Mary moved closer to him. She gently touched his face, tracing the crescent of each eyebrow, the delicate skin around his eyes, the dimples on his cheeks, the outline of his oh so perfect lips. Cupping his face with her hands, she kissed him very gently. He quivered, and a frisson ran through her body in response. She shifted onto her knees, and taking his hand she guided it to the strings on the bodice of her nightgown.

"Undress me," she murmured. Fixing her in his magnetic gaze, he deftly loosened the strings. And when he eased the gown up and over Mary's head he gave a gasp of delight at her ripening body. He straightened up a little and motioned her to sit on his lap. He traced the curve of her rounded belly, noticing where it was fuller now, where the feel of her skin had changed as the baby took more and more room, and the delicious heaviness and heat of each breast as he gently cupped them. His breath began to quicken. His lips found one nipple and he began to tease it with his tongue. The sensation was so intense that Mary gasped.

He stopped and looked at her questioningly. "Does it hurt?"

"Not exactly," she whispered. "But it is very intense. I think it's my body readying itself for birth and nursing." His blue eyes softened, and he touched her belly again, wonder at the miracle of their growing child written all over his face. Mary felt a rush of love for him: his expression always became delightfully boyish whenever they talked about the baby and her pregnancy. She guided his lips back to her nipple again, moaning a little as he worked it once more with his tongue, the slightest bit more gently this time. The sensation was so overwhelming she had a strong sense a climax might be possible from that alone. The mere thought of that titillated her further, and she guided his other hand to her triangle of dark curls and the sweet spot beneath that his fingers were now expert at working.

Her panting, the writhing of her curvy body against him and the moans she uttered with increasing frequency sent Matthew into paroxysms of pleasure of his own, and his own breath began to come shallow and fast. Her climax, when it came, was explosive, and he held her tightly as she bucked and jerked in his arms, so aroused now himself, he found himself kissing and kneading her skin incessantly. She tapped him gently on the shoulder to get his attention and extricated herself from his arms. She knelt and faced him. "Lie down," she instructed, eyes hooded, voice sultry. Drunk with desire, he lay back, and she helped him slide off his pyjama pants. She straddled him, admiring the strength and tone in his arms and shoulders. With a sigh of pleasure, she ran her hand's feather light down the smooth lines of his chest. Her mouth followed, administering a shower of gentle kisses.

Lifting her head up, their eyes locked, and he found himself lost in her sheer loveliness. She was so vital, so radiant and so utterly sexy. He groaned and reached to cup her breasts, delighting again in their heat and weight. His arousal already heightened, it took only a few firm strokes of her hand before he was ready, and with a cry of pleasure, Mary worked him inside her and rode him, sitting up. He kneaded her bottom, exalting in its softness, the visual feast of her body rocking above his unleashing in him an almost violent desire. As he neared his peak he pulled her down onto his chest and kissed her with an urgency and a fervour that left her breathless. Oh the sweet taste of her! The dewy touch of her skin against his! When at last he went over the edge the intensity was such that he shouted out, and Mary held him tightly, wishing to prolong that precious moment of intimacy for as long as possible.

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At 9:00 sharp on Friday, just as she had every week since his arrest, Sir Richard Carlisle's 'housekeeper' dumped the basket full of food down on the visitor's room table in her usual surly fashion. As she took up the empty basket from the previous time and turned to go he caught the slightest flash in her eye and his heart beat fast. She had brought him a message.

He uttered his customary grunt of thanks, and as always, the prison officers came across and unloaded the basket, checking each item before repacking it. All was as it seemed: the usual loaves of bread; fruit, butter, jam, cheese and bars of chocolate, one of which, as he did every time, he gestured for the guards to keep. Dismissed, a guard led Sir Richard Carlisle back to his cell and locked him in.

He found the envelope when he broke open the bread, his interest immediately piqued by its weight and thickness.

Checking the peephole in his door first to ensure the guard hadn't loitered to peer in, which on occasion they were want to do, he eased it carefully from the middle of the loaf and slid it immediately under the books piled on the small table. He made himself a few sandwiches, enough to destroy the evidence of the hole in the bread, and after once again checking the peephole for prying eyes he retrieved the envelope, opened it, and began to read.

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They were a large crowd gathered beneath the Christmas tree in the Great Hall that New Year's Eve. The soft light from the candles and the aroma of cinnamon, spice and citrus from the Wassail being handed around added to the festive atmosphere.

Notable in their absence, but mentioned often in the course of the evening were the Bates's, installed in a small seaside Inn in Whitby whilst Anna's broken ribs and cut limbs healed, and Mr Barrow, 'being looked after by his cousin in York,' until he, too, was well enough to return to work.

"Tomorrow it will be the 1920's," Matthew said, as he and Mary gazed about the crowded room from the comfort of the fireside sofa in the Grand Hall. He still couldn't believe it. Couldn't believe he had lived to see the new decade in; adopting a fatalistic attitude had been a necessity during the long years in the living hell that was the trenches.

But he had. And what's more, he was soon to be a father, with family life to look forward to. He smiled and reached for his wife's hand.

"Happy?" she whispered, radiant in a teal drop-waisted evening gown, nicely set off by the long silver necklace he had gifted her for Christmas.

"Very," he nodded. "I was thinking about our little one," he patted her stomach gently.

"A baby will certainly change things," Mary observed. "But in a good way," she squeezed his hand. "And I'm looking forward to seeing how you take to fatherhood," she smirked. "And whether I'll get a look in where baby is concerned!" They both laughed. More guests were arriving, and a few minutes later, Tom, Sybil, Anthony and Edith appeared. They had spent the afternoon together walking the Strallan farms, taking dinner at Locksley before travelling to Downton for the evening gathering.

"Papa said you were over here," Edith said, pleased to see a seat. A little further on in her pregnancy than Mary, she was starting to really feel it. Anthony perched on the arm beside her, and Tom and Sybil shared the footstool. They began to talk, catching up on each other's news and discussing the continuing drama with Mr Green, who remained incognito under police guard at the hospital in York.

Sybil, already a little tipsy thanks to the fine wine that had been shared at the Strallan's dinner table, said unexpectedly. "I found out something about Green yesterday. Want to hear it? But it must stay strictly between us." she leant forward conspiratorially. The others looked at each other but they all nodded, and in a low voice, Sybil began.

"Sarah-Jane is friends with one of the nurses there, and it turns out she was the one that recognised him. And apparently," Sybil began to giggle, "She told her that it appears he may lose his manhood."

"What?" Edith and Mary looked scandalised, and the men cringed. Unabashed, Sybil continued. "It seems that wallop Bates gave him did some serious damage," she smirked.

"Sybil," Edith sounded perturbed. "Is this really a laughing matter? I mean it's…"

Sybil cut across her, eyes flashing. "When the laughter is at him?" she said a little louder than necessary. "Yes! I think it is. The bastard got what he damn well deserved."

"Sybil!" Mary and Edith hissed in scandalised tones. "Your language!" Shocked, they looked around praying no one else outside of their group had heard.

"They're all laughing," Sybil said belligerently, and sure enough, Matthew, Anthony and Tom, eyes full of mirth, were sharing sideways glances and struggling not to snigger.

"It's no laughing matter!" Edith repeated in a furious whisper, this time to the men.

"Of course not, my dear," Anthony said mildly to his wife. "But it must be said that hearing your genteel younger sister voice the truth in so plain a manner most certainly is!" and at that, all of them had to smile.

A little embarrassed by his wife's drunken outburst, Tom suggested a change of subject that they each share what they were looking forward to in the coming year. Starting off, he reported that he was to travel to Ireland in February for a month researching the political situation for his newspaper. "They want to provide a greater range of viewpoints on the troubles," he explained. My role will be to get us connected with some new contacts, on both sides of the conflict. Although the main area we need the contacts is among the Republicans, not surprisingly," he finished.

Edith went next, and it transpired that writing was also her focus. "Michael Gregson, the editor at The Sketch, wants me to start a regular column," she announced. 'The modern woman's view on societal change."

"What a marvellous feather in your cap, Edith!" Matthew said warmly. "And what do you plan for your first one?"

"Lady Astor's appointment as our first female Member of Parliament," Edith replied promptly. "But with it, I'd like to critique the Representation of the People Act too. It doesn't go far enough in my opinion. Why should the right to vote be restricted to women over 30, property owners and such like? We need universal suffrage in the way the Act allowed men to have it."

"My goodness. No hiding from controversy I see!" Mary said in surprise. "Don't let Papa in on your plans then!"

"Of course not. And anyway, what Papa thinks doesn't matter. I'm a married woman now!" Edith lifted her chin in the air. "And Anthony supports me. Don't you dear?"

"Of course. I wouldn't dare do anything else!" Anthony said mildly, but there was a twinkle in his eye. Tom and Matthew grinned at each other.

Sybil talked about her work, and her application to read for a degree in Physical Education. "Doctor Jones's protégé, Mary McMillan did that, and she has gone a long way in the field since! Did you know she has been heavily involved in establishing physical therapy in America?" she commented. "Walter Reid hospital apparently."

"And do you see yourself following in her footsteps?" Edith asked.

"Well, she is a woman I admire," Sybil admitted. "My first step is just getting in of course, but if I do complete the degree, I think I would like to make things happen out in the world as she has. Perhaps building on that research I was involved with here. It's terribly exciting, especially when you try something out that you then find actually works for the patients," she glanced at Matthew and they shared a knowing smile.

"How about you, Anthony?" Tom asked, and Anthony replied that he was enjoying working with Mary and her staff at the Land Agent's office on the plans for modernising the farms and that that, and the birth of his first child would be his focus.

Matthew and Mary also said the main thing they were looking forward to was the birth of their child. "Although I must say I'm also looking forward to some peace and quiet too," Matthew added, thinking to himself how much he wished for the ongoing drama with Carlisle and Lord Doncourt to be resolved and over once and for all. He was surprised to hear a gale of laughter from the others. "Who told you fatherhood brought with it peace and quiet?" Tom chortled.

"Oh," Matthew replied, nonplussed. "I meant… peace from other things," he said hurriedly, and then he grinned. "Of course I don't expect fatherhood to be peaceful! But at least it will be fun."

As the musicians began their repertoire of waltz music, the dancing began, and soon couples were whirling merrily around the room, the Strallan's and Branson's soon joining them. Mary and Matthew watched, enjoying the gaiety.

"Look!" Mary pointed, speaking in a hushed voice. "Evelyn and Sarah-Jane are dancing!" And so they were. And there were more than a few smiles among the friends and family there that knew them as Evelyn and Sarah-Jane, eyes only for each other, swayed in unison together across the floor.

Mary and Matthew looked at each other. "He deserves this, doesn't he Mary?" Matthew said. "To have things turn out. What a year they have both had!" he shook his head.

"He most certainly does," Mary said softly. "So very ill for so much of it, but hardly letting that stop him doing so much good in the world! Did you know that Papa is intending to thank him, and you too of course, for your work with the Trust in his speech tonight? Lavinia showed him some of the thank you letters the soldiers have sent in – those who you have supported already, and they seemed to have a real effect on him. And he was so proud when he found out you've now more than doubled Reggie's bequest, a lot of which was from the benefit concert!"

"Well, he and Cora had a lot to do with it being such a success," Matthew countered. "And not just their help with the planning. Look at how they stepped in for us so smoothly when we couldn't host the activities on the Sunday, for instance? And kept the whole drama with Green under wraps! Most of the guests went home none the wiser," Matthew finished, still amazed at how they and the staff had pulled together to make it so.

There was a shout, and looking up, they saw Evelyn limping towards them, hand in hand with Sarah-Jane. They were both grinning widely. They sat down and accepted fresh glasses of champagne being offered about by a footman.

"So when are you two going to have a dance?" Evelyn said expectantly. Matthew gave a non-committal shrug. "Come on Crawley. If I can manage a dance on a tin leg, I'm sure you can too," Evelyn urged him.

"But I don't want to trip up my pregnant wife," Matthew protested.

"Your pregnant wife, who is feeling exceedingly clumsy these days doesn't want to trip you up either," Mary sniggered. "But Evelyn is right. We should at least give it a go."

"Very well. But we must wait for something that's not too racy," Matthew insisted. And so when, a few dances later, the music changed tempo, they stood up and moved to the edge of the dance floor.

"How are we going to do this," Matthew muttered nervously.

Mary pursed her lips and contemplated him for a moment. "How about this way," she replied eventually, reaching under his tailcoat and looping her fingers firmly into the waistband of his trousers. "Take your weight off your sticks," she commanded. "Is this enough support?"

She took his weight easily. "Yes," Matthew said, a little amazed. "For such a slender creature you're remarkably strong!"

"Not slender now!" Mary scoffed. "But I did spend a year nursing don't forget. You're not the first man I've had to hold up!"

"Don't remind me. I might get jealous," Matthew poked his tongue out at her. He nodded to Alfred to take his sticks and Mary placed her other arm firmly under Matthew's elbow.

"How does this feel?" she asked him. "Secure?"

He nodded. "It does." He looked at Alfred. "Keep an eye out, all right? If I start to fall, I don't want Mary going over too."

"Of course, Sir" Alfred replied, rather impressed Matthew was game enough to at least try to dance.

The pair began to sway gently in time to the music, both privately enjoying that necessity demanded they stand so close together.

"Do you think you can manage some real steps?" Mary murmured after a few minutes.

"Small ones, perhaps," Matthew replied. They tried a few test steps, and when Matthew felt he had it figured out, they gave it a go. It took all his concentration to do it, but they managed a few rounds in a passable version of a waltz before they stopped and simply swayed again. Matthew was breathing hard but there was the hint of a smile on his lips.

Mary reached up and kissed him on the cheek. "Not bad Mr Crawley," she observed. "Not bad at all. We weren't quite to Evelyn and Sarah-Jane's standard, but then I am pregnant after all!" her eyes twinkled, and Matthew gave a snort of laughter.

"What would I do without you," he smirked. "You never let me take myself too seriously. You're like a good tonic you know."

"I'll remember that for the next time I'm born," Mary quipped. "And come back bottled as one of your favourite single malts."

Matthew laughed again. "I do love you so terribly much. Do you know, really know, just how much I do?"

"Of course," she murmured, her eyes suddenly bright. "You show me your love in what you say, and in what you do, with me, and for me, every single day." And as they began swaying again, this time to Strauss's _Blue Danube_, they found each other's lips and began to kiss, a long, sweet and very tender kiss.

There was a cheer from somewhere in the room. Then another. And another. Soon it seemed that everyone around them was cheering. They broke apart and looked at each other, mystified. "Is it the New Year?" Mary whispered. "Did we miss the chimes?" And it was then, when they both finally looked around to see, that they realised, at first embarrassed, and then humbled and pleased, that the cheering was for them.

And only a short while later, after a series of acknowledgements and accolades on the year that had been, led by a rather merry Lord Grantham, the chimes really did begin, and when the final note sounded, the toasts drunk and the greetings shared, the crowd broke spontaneously into lusty song:

_Should auld acquaintance _be forgot_,_

_And never brought to mind?_

_Should auld acquaintance _be forgot_,_

_And auld lang syne!_

_For auld lang syne, my jo,_

_For auld lang syne,_

_We'll _tak_ a cup o' kindness yet,_

_For auld lang syne._

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**Authors Notes**

**Medical comment**

Fatigue in the manner Matthew experiences in this fic is a known phenomenon among some SCI patients with incomplete injuries who have regained the ability to stand and walk.

It's also worth noting that as a result of WWI, Britain was quite 'ahead' in its use of physical activity as an aid in rehabilitation... unfortunately this went backwards later in the post-war period when the Government, in an effort to balance the books, did not support the continuation of the good work started.

**Bedford College** was founded in London in 1849 as the first higher education college for the education of women in the United Kingdom. It played a leading role in the advancement of women in higher education, and in public life in general.

Early on it became clear that the standard of education many of the students had had was lacking, and preparatory courses were developed to allow the predominantly governess-taught students to catch up before commencing full university studies.

In 1900, the college became part of the University of London.

**Lady Astor,** on 1 December 1919, entered Parliament as a Unionist (also known as "Tory") Member of Parliament. Britain's first woman MP.

**Representation of the People Act 1918**

The Representation of the People Act 1918 widened suffrage in Britain by abolishing practically all property qualifications for men and by enfranchising women over 30 who met minimum property qualifications.

**Mary McMillan** worked under Doctor Robert Jones in the UK before travelling to America in 1915 where she was instrumental in establishing physical therapy and training what was then called 'reconstruction aides.' She worked at Walter Reid hospital. She is now known as 'the mother of physiotherapy.'


	50. Chapter 50

Welcome to the last chapter... phew it's been a bit of a ride! Hope you enjoy. Chapter is M rated.

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Glancing outside, Matthew gave an involuntary shiver as another gust of wind sent rain and sleet splattering against the bedroom window. It was a gloomy January afternoon. The weather had taken a turn for the worse, and he hoped that Mary would be home soon. It wouldn't do for her to be out driving the motor alone if it turned cold enough for snow. He turned to the fire, immediately cheered by its warmth and for a few pleasant moments he allowed himself to be mesmerised by the curling tongues of orange, yellow and blue, and the flickering light they danced along the walls. He stretched luxuriously on the bed, glad for the comfort of their beautifully appointed room, and glad too, that it was the weekend and he could stay exactly where he was for as long as he wished. Glancing out the window again, he was reassured to see it was now mostly rain. With a sigh, he tucked another pillow behind his head and reached for the legal file beside him to resume his reading. The firm had been approached about another large merger, and he wanted to be fully prepared for the client meeting that coming Monday.

Voices in the hallway sometime later alerted him to Mary's return, and after a few minutes the door opened softly and she came in.

"Oh, you're awake," she smiled. "Alfred wasn't sure if you would be, so I thought I should be quiet."

"Awake I am," Matthew put the document he was reading to one side and sat up. "I've been working," he said, stretching his arms and shoulders. "Your timing is quite perfect though. I was on the last page of the file I had to look through for our Monday meeting."

"The chemical companies?" Mary asked. "Is it likely to be as complex as the last one?"

"More so," Matthew frowned. "Two of the three companies have quite an acrimonious history. A bit of undercutting and stealing of each other's customers in their pasts. And whilst their respective Boards are keen, their managers are not. So I suspect it's going to take a whole other level of negotiation to get a new structure through."

"Well, they've come to the best, getting you and Alex," Mary remarked, shrugging herself out of her coat. "And do I take it you've negotiated a fee that recognises what it's going to take?" She raised an eyebrow.

"Of course," Matthew grinned. Charles Carter had taught him well: _Push your worth and always sort the commercial arrangements ahead_ he could hear him saying. He stacked his papers and placed them on the bedside table. Glancing up at Mary again, he saw that she was yawning. "Have a rest, my dear," he said immediately, patting the bed beside him, and groaning a little, Mary sat down. She pulled herself back against the pillows and put her feet up, eyeing her shoes resentfully and wishing she could just kick them off.

"Let me do that," Matthew said, noticing her grimace. He moved down the bed to where he could reach, and with a grateful smile, she sat back and watched as he gently removed first her right shoe and then her left.

"Your feet look sore," Matthew said, noticing they were slightly puffy and a little red. "How about I give them a rub."

"That would be lovely," she sighed, suddenly realising just how tired she was. She reached forward to undo her suspenders, but Matthew motioned her back, and pleased to let him continue, she leant against the pillows and shut her eyes. Pushing up her skirt, Matthew deftly unbuttoned each suspender and slid her silk stockings off, the warmth and smoothness of her legs under his fingers sending a delicious wave of heat through his whole body.

Oh god. He had an overwhelming desire to take her, then and there. _Stop it_ he chided himself. _Mary needs some looking after._ The exquisite shape of her lips caught his eye, and he felt another powerful frisson. Damn it. He needed a distraction. "Tell me how Edith was," he found himself saying, taking a deep breath to calm himself. He took up one of the stockings and began methodically to roll it.

"Edith?" Mary answered, opening her eyes to look at Matthew. "She isn't too bad. A bit uncomfortable now she's almost full term but keeping herself occupied with her weekly column for _The Sketch_. We spent most of the time talking about that, and her next topic."

"Which was?" Matthew inquired placing the rolled stockings on the bedside table.

"A commentary on that book everyone is talking about. _Married Love_ by Marie Stopes," Mary gave another yawn. "The influence that it has had."

"She loves to step right into controversy your sister, doesn't she?" Matthew raised an eyebrow. "I shall look forward to reading it." Matthew enjoyed her commentaries. They revealed a sharp wit and a penchant for irony, and Edith was attracting quite a following among _The Sketch's_ readership as a result. Strange, he thought. He had always imagined Sybil would have been the activist, but medicine and rehabilitation had become her all-consuming focus, and it was Edith who was now surprising them all with her modern views and fearlessness in sharing them.

Matthew placed Mary's right foot on his thigh and began to massage it, his firm but gentle strokes bringing relief to a particularly tender spot on the sole of her foot.

"Aaah," she breathed. She felt suddenly tearful. It was so nice to be cared for. And Matthew's attentions were reminding her just how much she missed Anna. Whilst Matthew had made it his business to see to her comfort as much as he could when he was home, she missed the care and constancy of Anna, and most of all she missed having a confidant. Indeed, Anna's absence had made her realise just how much more their relationship was than one of Lady and Maid: it was the relationship of close friends. Her eyes smarted again, and not wanting Matthew to see her tears, she squeezed her eyes shut, and tried to focus on the relief his strong hands were bringing to her body. His rhythmic stroking worked. By the time he had finished, she had fallen asleep.

He gazed at her sleeping form, one elegant arm folded across her rounded belly, the other resting at her side. Admired the perfect crescents of her dark eyelashes. And smiled at the shiny curls of hair that had escaped her careful coiffing to so enticingly frame her heart-shaped face.

His pulse quickened again. He imagined undressing her, then and there, and showering her body with kisses. And some. He touched her hand briefly, and she made a little sound in response. No. He must let her sleep. With a reluctant sigh, he reached for the quilt folded across the foot of their bed and spread it over her, and then he put on his shoes, got up and went to organise some afternoon tea.

The familiar tap of his sticks on the tiled floor alerted Daisy to his arrival.

"Mr Matthew! How may I help, Sir?" she said cheerily, straightening up from the oven where she was checking the meat. Alfred put down his polishing rag and leapt quickly to his feet to greet him also.

"Afternoon tea," Matthew smiled, motioning to Alfred to sit back down. "Just for myself for now. And if you could have some delivered for Mary to our bedchamber in about half an hour. She is having a nap."

"Of course, Sir!" Daisy said immediately, as she set about filling the kettle and fetching the cake tin. It was not unusual for him to visit them in the kitchen. She, like the other staff, had noticed that Mr Matthew preferred the personal approach to the bell when he could: In so doing, he also liked to take a few minutes with them to exchange the news of the day, something they had all come to appreciate. It made for a friendly household and a far less formal atmosphere than what most of them had been used to. And today was no different. Taking a seat in the high-backed butler's chair, Mr Crawley asked after Alfred's family, and then after Mr Mason, whom he knew Daisy had visited the previous day on her afternoon off. Matthew was pleased to hear from her that Mr Mason had decided to take on as his new farm hand, a former soldier Mr Molesley had recommended.

"He seems a nice lad," Daisy commented. "Andy's his name. He was up the ladder fixing the thatch when I got there. Hadn't even needed to be asked. Mr Mason was very pleased!"

"Isn't he quite young?" Matthew asked. "Enlisted underage or something?"

"He did," Daisy's voice was admiring. "Barely fourteen! They found out when he got to the Front. But rather than send him home they kept him on as a messenger boy."

"So he wasn't cannon fodder," Alfred commented darkly. "Bet that's the only reason he's come back alive." He had momentarily forgotten Mr Crawley was present, and when he realised what he had just voiced aloud, he froze, and his face went a deep shade of crimson. "Oh, Sir. So sorry Sir," he stammered.

"Don't be," a shadow crossed Matthew's face. "You are most probably right." And whilst Alfred was relieved, he was cross with himself for speaking as he had. Mr Crawley and too many of his friends would live with the consequences of the terrible war for the rest of their lives. There was a silence, and then Matthew enquired as to how Mrs Patmore was getting on without Daisy at the big house. At that, both Alfred and Daisy shared a smile, and Daisy found herself reciting one or two of the dramas that had unfolded for Ivy in her first few weeks working as Daisy's replacement alongside the irascible cook. "Things are getting better though," Daisy confided. "Ivy's only visited once this past week. Advice on béchamel sauce."

"Well, then. Let's all take that as a good sign," Matthew said with a wry grin. "I've been terrified she'll march in here one day and demand you back!" and they all laughed.

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"Ooh," Mary gave a little gasp. "What is it?" Matthew was instantly concerned. It was late afternoon the same day and they were lying on the bed reading. His concern evaporated when he saw her smiling. "Feel that," she placed his hand gently on her stomach. "Our baby is kicking!"

"Oh, my," Matthew's eyes softened, as he felt the movement beneath his hand, and all of a sudden, quite a definite kick. "That was a big one! Did it hurt? Our little one seems rather energetic today!"

"Not quite as uncomfortable as some," Mary said ruefully, smiling as Matthew kept his hand on her stomach, exclaiming each time the baby kicked again.

"I do feel for you," he commented eventually. "It's fun for me, having our baby kick, but you are the one doing all the work to grow and carry our child, and it's not without its discomforts!

"I don't mind," Mary hastened to say. "In fact I actually like it. A sign that everything is well," she leant across and kissed him.

"And not long to go now," Matthew gazed at her, rapt. He felt an overpowering rush of love for his wife and their unborn child.

Mary's skin prickled in the warmth of his gaze. She felt pleasantly relaxed after her rest and she was greatly enjoying this precious time alone with her husband. God she loved him. She ran a finger lightly across his hand. Fine those hands. Gentle. And strong: a good match for the man he was. She felt an ache deep in her groin, and her pulse quickened. And when she lifted her face to him and saw his need, her pulse quickened further. She glanced at the door. He followed her gaze and they shared a look of relief and then guilty pleasure in seeing that it was shut. She giggled, and with a growl, Matthew began kissing her, deep, full kisses and they moved together, holding each other tight. The taste of him, and the insistence of his tongue exploring her mouth aroused her further, and their kissing became more and more intense. But it wasn't enough. Mary wanted to feel his skin. Needed him inside her. Matthew was already unbuttoning her blouse whilst continuing to kiss her, and she helped him by shrugging her arms out of the sleeves. He pushed up her skirt, his hands stroking and kneading. She uttered a moan of delight and guided his hands to the buttons on the waistband, desperate now for her skirt to come off. He growled in assent and quickly undid it before pausing his kissing and sitting up to take it off up over her head.

"Oh, God Mary," the glow to her skin and the fullness of her pregnant body dissolved him in pleasure, and his fingers trembled as he unhooked her brassiere and slid her knickers off.

She turned on her side and eyed him mischievously. He loosened his own trousers, pushing them part way down his legs before tumbling alongside her. He spooned her, kissing the side of her neck, and nibbling her ear. She giggled and guided his hand to her breasts, enjoying his appreciative grunt as he began to tease her nipples. She could feel him growing hard against her. "Mmm," her voice was sultry, his arousal titillating her further. Hell, how she wanted him. Now. She pushed against him suggestively and shifted to give him access, and after a few breathy utterances to and fro as they tried to get the positioning right, Mary let out a little shriek of pleasure as she felt him slide into her and pull her tightly to him. They moved together, their rhythm building as their mutual need intensified. It was exquisite, and each was intent on prolonging their lovemaking for as long as possible. But they couldn't stay quiet. It was too damn good. Caressed and absorbed by her, Matthew shattered first and he swore into her hair and kissed her fervently about her neck. His rapture sent Mary over the edge soon after, and Matthew put his hand over her mouth to stifle her very loud shriek. Still joined, and holding each other tight, they giggled like naughty children, speculating as to whether they had been heard, and not caring a jot if they had. And when at last they calmed down, they talked softly and stroked each other, basking in their intimacy, two lovers replete. Until a little while later when Matthew said reluctantly, "I have to move. My arm has gone to sleep," and they finally pulled apart.

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Already worried about how the staff would manage as she approached her confinement, events at the office on a wintry January morning left Mary deeply unsettled. It began when Harry Cooke arrived late, simultaneously agitated and apologetic, his wife's face thunderous but fearful all at the same time.

"What happened?" Mary asked immediately, but the woman turned and abruptly left, without so much as the briefest acknowledgement. Huffing a little at her rudeness, Mary pushed Mr Cooke across to his desk and sat down beside him. "What on earth is the matter?" she asked crisply. Her tone made Stan White, their office secretary pause his typewriting and look up.

His head hanging in shame, Mr Cooke held out his arm, the wrist of which was wrapped in a rough bandage. The swelling in his fingers showed her immediately the injury wasn't minor.

"Oh," she said, her voice hushed. "You've hurt yourself. Have you seen the Doctor?"

He shook his head. "My wife…" he couldn't finish and looked away instead.

His wife wouldn't take him, Mary surmised. She felt another wave of irritation with the woman. She had thought her surly behaviour was now well in the past: she had been polite, even occasionally talkative to Mary in the past months, especially since Mary's pregnancy had become known – the birth of her own child, a child she had been carrying when Harry had returned injured from the war, seemed to have brought the couple closer, but for some reason this event had given her cause to revert to her previous surliness.

"You're not going to be able to write with that, are you?" Mary stated. Mr Cooke shook his head. "And it will take a while," Mary thought out loud, instinctively knowing it was either a bad sprain or a fracture.

"I'd be sacking me if I were the boss," Mr Cooke said miserably and he looked away.

"Which is why it's just as well that I'm the boss and not you," Mary snapped. She pushed herself up, walking to the cupboard to find her first aid supplies. "Suffering an accident and needing time to recover should never be reason for a sacking," she said crossly as she rummaged for the sling she knew was in the box. Returning with the item, her tone was gentler when she asked him to hold out his arm so that she could place and tie it. "There," she said when she was done. "Is that comfortable?" Harry nodded, his initial embarrassment at being attended to by his formidable Lady boss overcome as he remembered she had been a nurse.

"I'll call Doctor Clarkson and ask him to come in," Mary continued. "Your arm must be checked. We can't risk leaving a possible fracture untended. But for now, tell me your pain level. Do you think you are up to some work?" Harry replied vehemently that he was. "Very well," Mary replied. She turned to Stan White. "Mr White. As you can see, Mr Cooke has injured his wrist. May I ask that you be his writer today? And assist with anything else he may need. Fit your other work in when you can. Are we clear about that?" Mary raised her eyebrows.

Mr White nodded and gave a flutter of his hand, a gesture that all of them in the office had come to know meant that he understood. He got up and moved to Mr Cooke's side to await his instructions. Harry told him to open the ledger and fetch the day's mail from the correspondence tray. Glancing back towards Mary, he swallowed and said, "Thank you, m'Lady. I'll make this work."

"I know you will," Mary said crisply, but her eyes were kind, and clearly much lighter now, the young man turned back to Mr White, and the pair began the day's work.

"Good evening, Dr Clarkson," Mary greeted the Doctor as by chance their paths crossed as each was making their way home later that same day.

"Good evening, Lady Mary," Doctor Clarkson tipped his hat. Mary stopped, and realising she wished to converse with him, the Doctor did likewise.

"Thank you for coming in to see Mr Cooke. I was pleased to see his wrist properly bound when I got back from my lunch appointment."

"Quite a nasty sprain," Doctor Clarkson frowned. "I got his agreement for Nurse Clarke to help him at home for the next few weeks until it is healed. With her Aunt away, his wife is struggling to care for him. Her back hasn't been right since the baby," he went on, talking as if he expected that Mary already knew.

"Of course," Mary answered automatically, the woman's behaviour now starting to make sense.

"But it's not a good situation," Doctor Clarkson continued, his brow furrowed. "That fall down the stairs wasn't his first. I'm worried it will happen again if something isn't done to improve his living arrangements. Very hard for a maimed fellow to be tenanting a house without a downstairs bedroom," there was a hint of disapproval in his tone.

"He fell down the stairs?" Mary looked at the Doctor, aghast.

"Yes. My apologies, I thought he had told you," Doctor Clarkson said discomforted when he realised she didn't know.

"How ridiculous," Mary burst out. "Can't something be done? Could his landlord help and get the rooms reorganised?"

Doctor Clarkson looked even more uncomfortable and his face reddened slightly. "I must agree," he swallowed. "But tell me, Lady Mary. Were you unaware the property is one of yours?"

Mary was quiet at dinner that night. She pushed her food around her plate, still shocked by Doctor Clarkson's revelation, and wondering what to do. After her farewell to the Doctor she had retraced her steps back to the office, where to her relief, Mr Brougham had not yet left. As she had hoped, he was able to locate the file for the property where Mr Cooke lived. The surname in the tenancy agreement was Appilton, a name unfamiliar to her, and it explained why she hadn't put two and two together earlier. The property was one of their smaller cottages, and a cursory glance at the floor plan confirmed that without an extension, there was no feasible way to reorganise it to allow for a ground floor bedroom.

Reflecting on the situation over her meal, she was flummoxed. She knew if she did anything directly, Mr Cooke would be embarrassed, given he hadn't seen fit to tell her just how he had become injured in the first place. She cringed, just thinking of him having to crawl up and down the steep, narrow stairs she knew was the standard in most of their cottages, with only his one arm to rely upon. And how many other former soldiers, ill or maimed were in unsuitable houses, some of which might be theirs?

"Mary," Matthew's insistent tone broke into her reverie. "I've asked you three times now about Dickie Grey's invitation to join him and Mother for Saturday luncheon, but you're off in your own world! What is it? Did something happen at work?"

She lifted her face to him, a little anguished. "Yes," she sighed. "And Matthew, I don't know what to do!" and she proceeded to tell him the story.

0-0-0-0-0-0

"I've news," Edward announced, walking into Matthew's office at the Carey Street branch of Harvell and Carter, from where he was working for two days that week. It was six o'clock. Alex had let Edward in: all the other staff had already gone home.

"Our favourite newspaperman?" Matthew straightened up, capping his elegant black and gold Parker safety pen and placing it back in its case.

Edward nodded and flopped into the seat on the other side of Matthew's desk. "They've announced the date for the trial. Finally!" he grinned. "April the Seventh. Seems that Howard and Hunter have exhausted all their options to delay it any further," he smirked. "Although we shouldn't complain, of course given what a godsend these extra months have turned out to be for us!"

"No we shouldn't," Matthew grinned, but then he frowned. "April 7? Dear God, that's the same week Mary's due!"

Eddie's face fell. "Oh my goodness. I hope this news doesn't upset her then." Whilst he had never been party to the exact details, he knew that Carlisle held information she continued to fret he might disclose.

"With a bit of luck, she will be too focused on the birth to worry," Matthew pursed his lips. _Let's hope so anyway,_ he thought with a pang. At least there was a date, and if they were lucky, an end in sight to the shadow the family had been living under for such a long time. But as seemed the pattern now, the unfortunate timing signalled yet another ugly intrusion of the affair into their lives.

"And how is the case looking?" he asked, wanting a distraction from his concern over the trial date. He began sorting the papers on his desk. "I've been so caught up with this latest merger I haven't had a chance to look through what you sent us."

"Good. Very good!" Eddie responded, his face lighting up. "Whoever was our source with that last lot of evidence has done us a huge favour. And likewise, the mystery solicitor Mary's Uncle got acting for you through that intermediary. Managed to substantiate a lot of what she found out in New York with a very thorough set of statements and documentation," Eddie paused. "You know Crawley, I really think we will see the whole damn lot of them go down for war treason. It's a very tight case. Very tight indeed," and he proceeded to fill Matthew in on the details. Edward was part way through describing the evidence tying Lord Doncourt to the armaments company currently being investigated by the United States Congress for wartime corruption when Alex poked his head in.

"Ready to go, chaps? I want out of here," he entered, already wearing his hat and greatcoat.

"Listen to the end of this whilst I sort this final lot of files," Matthew answered. "And can you pass me my briefcase while you're at it," he added.

"Carlisle?" Alex raised an eyebrow and they both nodded. He brought Matthew's briefcase across to the desk and sat down next to Edward. His eyes widened when Eddie explained just how wide the net was cast that had enabled Lord Doncourt and his cronies to rake in well over a million pounds of illegal profits. An elaborate scheme, which amongst other criminal acts, had seen chemicals and nickel for use in arms manufacture shipped to Germany via Switzerland, a false paper trail making the shipments appear legitimate. "And they used their shareholdings in various newspapers to stifle publication of the scheme when journalists here and on the continent got a sniff of it," Edward finished.

"And then Carlisle got in on it all," Matthew explained to Alex. "Quite why he did is anybody's guess. Must have been money. But perhaps something else? Keeping hush hush on information is one thing. But having his top war correspondent abuse his position to seek out and then pass on classified military information to the Germans is quite another." The three of them looked at each other.

"Carlisle is a horrible piece of work," Matthew continued. "But Mary has always maintained this was beyond anything she could ever imagine him doing. And Kenneth Watson of course, who until this had held an unsullied reputation."

"We may never find out you know," Alex remarked. "Unless whatever it turns out to be is material to his confession, assuming, of course, that after all this he goes through with it."

"Don't remind me," Matthew groaned. "I still worry he'll change his mind. And renege on the promise he made to us about Mary."

"I don't think that's going to happen," Edward replied. "He knows what we have. And that we'll hand it all over if he doesn't. And more than that, confessing is his one chance at avoiding the death sentence. Try not to worry old chap."

Matthew ran his hand through his hair and sighed. He knew Eddie was probably right, but the matter continued to vex him, and he was resigned to the fact that it would remain vexing until it was all well and truly over. His head was beginning to hurt.

"How about we go now, eh?" he rubbed the spot on his forehead between his eyes. "I think I've had enough speculating about all of this for the night. And Eddie wants to join us for a drink."

"Marvellous!" Alex grinned. "If that's the case, should we go somewhere a little more upmarket than our usual?" he glanced at Edward. "Turn it into dinner? Clarissa's out."

"What do you class as upmarket?" Eddie raised an eyebrow: his and Alex's perceptions of 'upmarket' differed rather wildly.

"My club," Alex said promptly. "It's Thursday night and they put on a French meal. There's an excellent wine list." Matthew shot Edward a sideways "I told you so" grin as he shut the lid of his briefcase. Boodles was one of the more exclusive of London's gentlemen's clubs, offering a dining experience that was the envy of the very best of the City's hotels. And whilst their friendship with Alex had long afforded them many such indulgences, the novelty of being guests at that particular establishment had never quite worn off.

"But what about my clothes?" Eddie frowned looking down at his navy herring- bone suit and flamboyant paisley necktie. "It's a long way across town to fetch my dinner jacket."

"You can borrow my spare," Alex replied. Knowing his friend was tired, he walked around the desk to Matthew and slid an arm under his shoulders to help him to his feet. He handed him his sticks. "You all right just with these?" he asked.

"I should be," Matthew replied. "We're taking a cab, right?"

"Yep," Alex picked up Matthew's briefcase. "In case you hadn't noticed, it's raining," he grinned, and the three of them left the office together. Matthew was getting better at knowing his limits. He could manage at the office without needing his chair but risk any distance on foot and he would be wiped out the next day. And he had learned not to refuse help, which Alex in Barrow's absence had come to know exactly when to offer: the more energy he could conserve the better.

A few hours later, and fortified by a superb bottle of Bordeaux _Chateau Latour Cabernet sauvignon_, the Boodles dinner conversation of the three friends soon turned to women. Alex was keen to share news Clarissa had received a letter from her former university hall saying that Oxford was shortly to decide whether or not to confer its degrees to women.

"Which way do they think it will go?" Matthew asked. He still remembered the awkwardness of the day they had all graduated: Clarissa, despite outclassing a number of them in examinations, had been forced to stand by and watch as Alex and Matthew and their group of friends were awarded their degrees. She had been very gracious about it, joining in with the accolades they had received from the attending families and friends, but they all knew she was bitterly disappointed.

"In favour of the women students," Alex replied. "At long last. All that lobbying and agitating she and the others did seems finally to be paying off."

"Thank goodness for that," Eddie scowled. "It has been very unfair. The same study, the same examinations. For goodness sakes! The University of London has been conferring degrees for women students since the 1870's."

"Well, if it does come off, let's make sure we're all there when she gets it," Matthew vowed, and he raised his glass. "To Clarissa, and hoping the University Council sees sense!" and the other two grinned and raised their wine glasses to follow suit.

"I was sorry not to see her tonight," Edward commented a few minutes later. "She's been promising to show me that essay she had published in the _Oxford Magazine_ on the poetry of Thomas Hardy."

"Well as chance has it, the very reason she's not home is that she's out with her women's writing group!" Alex said with a hint of pride.

"Fellow students from Oxford?" Edward looked immediately interested.

"Some of them," Alex thought of the women he knew were involved.

"Do they hold events, you know, poetry reading and such like?" Edward persisted.

"As a matter of fact, they do. Usually every other month. Alternate around each other's houses. Why? You looking for inspiration to pen something yourself?" Alex asked.

"No! But… well," Edward paused. "Any of them single?" and Alex and Matthew burst out laughing.

"So that's what's behind this!" Alex chortled, but he and Matthew abruptly stopped laughing when they saw the look on Edward's face. For Eddie was lonely. Early on in his war service, he had been heartbroken to receive a letter from his fiancé calling off their engagement: Escaping the spectre of the war, the family had emigrated to America where she had fallen in love with a Boston shipping merchant. Brutal as they had been, the years of war had proved a blessed distraction but now, with the war over and his life back to a semblance of normality again, he felt the loss acutely.

"What about that girl who was keen on you at work?" Matthew asked.

"That's the problem," Edward shook his head. "She's keen. I'm not! She, well… Oh for god's sake chaps. I need a smart woman. Like you both have. Charlotte's nice enough but she's not in that league." Edward frowned and took a large gulp of his wine.

"You know what, old boy," Alex said a little while later. "I'm pretty sure we're hosting the next writing soiree. How about you come along? And while we're on it, I never did answer your earlier question. Yes! A good number of them are still single."

0-0-0-0-0-0

"Ohh," Clarissa exclaimed in delight as Mary showed her through to the Vicarage conservatory, the high-ceilinged space so thronged with lush foliage that she felt as if she had been transported to the tropics. "We are in England, aren't we?" Clarissa said, looking eagerly around.

"Alas it is only Yorkshire," Mary answered. "But if you must know, you have only yourself to blame!" she smirked. "We were so taken by the wonderful things in your conservatory at Chester Square that we were compelled to create an indoor garden of our own!"

"Well, you have done an excellent job," Clarissa ran an approving eye over the twin Grecian urns that overflowed with pink and white pelargoniums either side of the French doors. She could just detect their sharp scent beneath the fume of jasmine.

"We were lucky to find a good designer," Mary explained. "And our gardener had a background in indoor plants as well as outdoor. Just as well, as neither of us knew much at all!"

"We had a head start where all of that was concerned," Clarissa reflected, as Mary told her how the installation of the conservatory plantings had only just finished. "The vast majority of our specimens were sourced in the sub-tropics and brought to England by Alex's Grandfather many years ago. He was a true plantsman in the very best Victorian tradition," she reminisced. "Many pages in his diaries on each plant and what is required to care for them! All we have had to do has been to follow his instructions and it has certainly worked to maintain what he began, tiresome as it may be at times!"

"Tiresome my dear?" Alex questioned wryly. "You seem to take great joy in the hours you spend in there clipping and tidying and re-arranging! Honestly, I think sometimes, sack the gardener, you give him so precious little to do!"

"Perhaps. But until you and I finally settle on a property with a decent bit of land, I will continue to while away the hours in our indoor jungle," Clarissa replied, an unexpected edge to her voice.

"Which is why you are here, is it not?" Matthew said a little too hastily, and Mary surmised that her husband must have found himself in the middle of more than one such conversation concerning the couple's future living arrangements during his time at their London residence.

"It is," Clarissa replied the edge to her voice still there. "Finally a property we **both** might like," she rolled her eyes at Alex who gave a non-committal shrug.

"Well, do tell us about it," Mary said brightly, finding herself mirroring her husband in trying to placate the pair.

"It's Newton Hall, on the River Ouse," Alex explained.

"I think I know the place," Mary frowned. "Isn't it between Ripon and York?"

Clarissa nodded. "That's the one!"

"What a surprise! I had no idea it was on the market!" Mary said. "The Stanford's have had that property in their family for generations!"

"Well, it isn't," Alex, replied. "But Lord Stanford is a friend of my fathers, and the last few months he has done nothing but talk about his worries for it, and his preference to up sticks and take a smaller home perhaps in Leeds or York. His wife, apparently, has been a lot more reluctant. Worried about what will become of her horses."

"Which is why he asked that we come up to visit," Clarissa chimed in. "Alex's father told him of my interest in a property set up for horses, and he got very keen. He then asked if we might meet with him and her together, hoping that if she heard our plans and our willingness to take it on as a going concern, she just might be reassured enough to want to sell up."

"It sounds a long stretch," Mary looked dubious. "She's not the most straightforward person to deal with," she said, remembering something Cora had once remarked about Lady Esther Stanford and her unpredictability. She stared at Clarissa and Alex for a moment, thinking. "You know, if you are looking for somewhere a little easier to obtain, you could make Papa an offer for Downton Place. It's in Eryholme, up near Durham," Mary ventured. "It has a fine set of stables."

Matthew cleared his throat. "My dear," his tone was slightly apologetic. "I did suggest that a while back," realising as he said it that he had never thought to tell his wife that he had done so.

"It is very kind of you to offer," Alex said quickly, as Mary fixed her husband with an indignant stare. "But like we told Matthew and Robert, we both felt it was a little too far north. We want to be within easy reach of both Ripon and York for my work. And to be closer to you both of course."

His placating tone mollified Mary somewhat, although she was still annoyed. Yet again something else that Matthew had said or done without her knowledge in the months they had been living apart: this time going so far as to involve her father! She was tempted to say something uncharitable, but then she remembered with a pang how she had hardly been much better: the choice of their kitchen range had been a case in point. Daisy, worried about the modern gas stoves many of the big houses were installing, had convinced Mary to instead equip the Vicarage kitchen with a new coal range.

"Why not a gas stove?" Matthew had said crossly when he found out. "It's much cleaner burning. And a lot less work!"

"It wasn't what Daisy wanted," Mary had shot back defensively.

"I cannot believe you took a young Cook's advice and went ahead and purchased such an expensive household item without consulting me!" Matthew had growled. "What's going to happen in a few short years when she suddenly realises the convenience of gas and demands we upgrade? Money doesn't grow on trees!"

"Says the man who is fast becoming one of the most highly paid lawyers in the north," Mary had rolled her eyes continuing to attack rather than admit they should have talked.

"That's not the point!" Matthew had protested. "Purchasing such an item takes time and consideration! Not a hurried chat with an inexperienced young cook!"

That had really set her off. "How dare you say it was hurried! It wasn't! We looked through a number of catalogues, and Daisy consulted with several of the cooks she knows in the district," Mary put her hands on her hips. "And since you are such a know-it-all on the subject of cooking, next time you be the one to try and convince Daisy her suspicions about gas stoves and their explosive vapours are all in her head!" And in her pregnant magnificence, she had turned on her heel and sailed out, leaving Matthew fuming. Reflecting on it all now, she felt a little ashamed. She gave a heavy sigh and twisted her handkerchief. She knew such conflicts were inevitable when a busy couple were forced to spend so much time apart. _Never again,_ she vowed. _We must never be apart for so long again._

Shaking herself out of her reverie, she focused back on the conversation going on around her. Clarissa was still on the subject of horses.

"And of course this property gives us so much more than just well-equipped stables," she was saying. "Some rare breeds and experienced staff would be part of the package."

"So you **are** going to establish a stud farm?" Mary asked, realising she had missed something.

"That's the plan," Clarissa's voice was enthusiastic. "I've wanted to breed race horses since I was a girl."

"Well you will enjoy meeting Lynch then when we go up to the stables," Mary remarked. "He worked for a horse breeder for many years before coming to us." The chime from the clock made her look up. "Oh goodness. Speak of the devil. We'd better ready ourselves to go. He's expecting us in under an hour."

0-0-0-0-0-0

Patrick James Strallan was born shortly after midnight on February 9, 1920.

Being more than two weeks late, and with his mother then forced to endure a long and exhausting labour, it was with more relief than joy that the extended family finally greeted the young infant, who was a little grey and thin from his long gestation when at last he arrived. But within days he had become the apple of the eye of not only his doting parents but also his very proud Grandparents, who were soon finding any little excuse to travel to Loxley to spend time with the youngster, even if it were simply to gaze at him adoringly as he slept.

From the outset, he was a settled lad, and Edith took to motherhood with an ease that amazed her own mother, Cora, who had expected to see Edith struggle and complain at the demands the infant made upon her.

Instead, Cora could not help but feel pleased when she saw how her daughter doted on her precious bundle, handing him over to nanny only with considerable reluctance when it came time for her to see to her own rest. Anthony, too, was in his element, loving nothing more than to nestle his young son against his shoulder and walk him to and fro whilst humming a lullaby when the child began to fuss.

For Sybil too, helping out the new mother proved a most welcome distraction: she had been spending her weekends at Downton, the Vicarage or with the Strallan's since she had farewelled Tom on his work trip to Ireland, and she found herself constantly worried. The political unrest had continued to intensify in the time he had been away as tensions arose ahead of the second reading of the _Government of Ireland_ Bill in the British Parliament.

"Now I understand how it was for you and Mary, those awful years your men were away fighting," she said worriedly to Edith one morning having just read of another violent skirmish between the revolutionaries and the RIC in yet another Irish county.

"Tom knows his country. And he'll not take unnecessary risks," Edith tried to reassure her, but Sybil remained unconvinced, and she was dismayed a few weeks later to receive a rare telephone call one Friday at work from Tom saying apologetically that in light of the political situation, his paper had asked that he extend his visit a further month, so valuable was the intelligence he was managing to gather for _The_ _Herald_ and its readers.

"I'm going to go mad with worry," Sybil wrung her hands, pacing about the Vicarage drawing-room late that evening. Barrow had just served her and Matthew a nightcap. Mary had gone to bed some hours earlier, exhausted after her busy week. Her confinement was now imminent, and she was busily trying to tidy things up.

"I can't bear being at home without him but when I'm here there's precious little to do, especially now Edith has her routine sorted," Sybil continued, still pacing. "I'm tempted to turn up at the hospital tomorrow and volunteer! Emptying bedpans would be preferable to this!"

Matthew, who was about to take another sip of his whisky, put his drink down and looked up at her. "Are you serious about wanting something to do?" he asked intently.

"Yes! Anything that will take my mind off Tom and that awful situation over there," her tone was plaintive.

"Did Mary tell you what was going on for Mr Cooke?" Matthew continued. "And what she's trying to engineer to improve his housing situation?"

Sybil shook her head, and Matthew quickly explained. "And just yesterday she was worried about who she could get to supervise the builders so that the alterations will work for him properly," he finished. "She was going to go down in the morning with some information from Doctor Clarkson, but what he's given her isn't very detailed. How about you do it instead? This is your area after all!"

"Oh! I'd love to. I wonder why she hasn't asked me earlier? I helped her with what we did here for you. I can't believe she has forgotten that!"

"Mary's got so much on her mind right now she doesn't always think clearly," Matthew explained. "But I'm hardly much better," he grimaced. "Anyway. Of course, you should be the one doing it. And while you're at it, talk with Mr Brougham about the other tenant properties housing wounded men. He could do with some advice on his plans for sorting them out as well."

0-0-0-0-0-0

Looking forward to the family's planned trip to Duneagle for Shrimpie's 60th birthday provided Mary with a welcome distraction now that she was into her confinement. She was missing going into the office, and despite there being plenty to do equipping and decorating the nursery, and advertising for a nanny and the last few staff they had still to employ, she felt restless and a little irritable. The trip would give her a welcome change of scenery and do her a world of good she thought.

But as the date of their departure drew closer, Matthew wasn't so convinced.

"Are you sure we should be going?" he asked her suddenly, the night before they were due to depart. Mary had had three uncomfortable nights in a row, and he worried how she would find the long trip north.

"I want to," Mary was vehement. "I haven't been to Duneagle since before the war, and to be honest, I've been struggling a bit, cooped up here for my confinement whilst you go happily off to work each day," she made a face. "This way I at least get to spend a precious week with my husband!"

"But what about Edith? It's still early days for her. Won't she miss having you around?" Matthew persisted.

"Edith, in case you hadn't noticed," Mary said drily, "Is coping very well! She barely lets her nanny do anything, and to be frank, Anthony is not much better. He seems completely charmed by the child. I've no doubt they will enjoy the chance to have their infant just to themselves for a while!"

"Oh, all right," Matthew, said at last. "I had been looking forward to it too. I just worry about you, my darling, travelling this late in your pregnancy."

As it turned out, Matthew was right to have worried. Barely three days into their time at Duneagle and Shrimpie's birthday celebration imminent, Mary announced suddenly to Matthew that she wished to return home. Her feet were swollen, she hadn't managed much sleep at all in the different bed, and the company of Susan was becoming an ordeal.

"You don't think you can manage another day to be here when Shrimpie celebrates?" Matthew frowned. The two of them were taking luncheon together on the grand terrace.

Mary shook her head. "I really don't. I will be sad to miss it but I can't continue like this," tears pricked at the corner of her eyes. She wasn't sure quite how to express why she wished to return immediately, nor just how badly out of sorts she felt. Frustrated, she bit out, "You've been able to escape! I so wish I could have been out riding with you and Shrimpie and Papa. Instead, I've suffered hour after hour of hearing Susan's monologue of her latest tiff with her husband and her worries that Rose is out of control!" Mary blinked rapidly. "I'm beginning to think she has no redeeming aspect to her person at all! It's almost like she wants to spoil his celebration this weekend!" her voice rose.

"Keep your voice down!" Matthew hissed, looking around. "She won't spoil it when she must be the hostess, surely!"

"You have more faith than I," Mary rolled her eyes. "You know, if I was Rose I think I would be out of control too with her for a mother," she scowled.

"Now, now," Matthew chided. "Don't be like that! Susan will have her reasons for this deep unhappiness. And we won't be party to what they are. It never pays to judge someone else's marriage from the outside."

"Why do I get the feeling you are parroting your mother?" Mary grumbled. Matthew shrugged. "Perhaps I am. So?" he looked at her with a wry expression.

"Oh, pfft," Mary threw her hands up in the air. "But I am going to go home. Anna is going to ride into town this afternoon to organise the train tickets."

"Well. If you are returning, then of course so shall I," Matthew said firmly.

"No!" Mary said equally firmly. "Stay here and represent our family for the remainder of Shrimpie's special week. And enjoy your first ever Ghillies ball! You've been so busy with your work again. And when the baby comes it's only going to get worse!"

"I'll do no such thing," Matthew said flatly. "I'm coming back with you. Ask Anna to purchase additional tickets for me and Barrow."

"But Matthew…" Mary began to protest. She frowned at him for a long moment, but the look in Matthew's eyes brokered no argument. "Very well," she sighed and conceded defeat. He would be returning with her. And deep down, she was secretly pleased.

Matthew's insistence he return with his wife was met with dismay. Shrimpie had been enjoying his company immensely, and even Susan seemed a little lighter and less dour with the talkative young man around.

Robert was initially disappointed, but then strangely pleased. He had grown to admire the way his son-in-law so often put the needs of his wife ahead of gentlemanly indulgences, something, he had come to realise a little uncomfortably, he hadn't done to quite the same extent in his own marriage. Catching him privately that evening, Robert said, "I'm sorry you are having to cut your holiday short like this. But of course, you must be with Mary. It is always hard for a woman this late in pregnancy. She will appreciate your company on the trip back in particular."

Matthew smiled. "Thank you for understanding Robert. I just hope Shrimpie doesn't feel too badly of us returning so early."

"Of course he doesn't. But he will miss the conversations with you about his experience at the first meeting of the League of Nations. It's not often he has someone so interested in it, nor a man quite so well informed!" He contemplated his son-in-law for a moment. "Perhaps I'll see if we can invite them all to Downton over the summer," he ventured. "Might give you a little more time to explain your rather more cautious view of the potential of the League of Nations to him in a more convincing manner!"

Matthew chuckled. "I would like that very much. Shrimpie is a wonderful enthusiast for the League, but with the hurdles it still has to overcome before America ratifies, I'm hedging bets for the moment."

"Hedging bets?" the men looked up to see Shrimpie approaching them with a smile on his face.

"Robert was just reminding me we still have much to talk about on the matter of the League of Nations," Matthew grinned. "He's cooking up a plan to get you to Downton in a few months time."

"Well well. I shall eagerly await such an invite. And Matthew. It's been a pleasure. I'm sorry we can't do that ride up onto the fells I'd told you about. You must come back. Next Easter perhaps?" he looked at Matthew expectantly.

"Mary and I would like that very much," Matthew replied, pleased. Duneagle's lush beauty had delighted him: the drifts of bluebells in its woodlands; the gentle music of the River Aray as its waters tumbled and bounced down the rapids; and the stunning views across Loch Fyne. "It is so very beautiful here. You really do have it all," he remarked enthusiastically.

He was surprised to see Shrimpie's face cloud. "It has its good points, of which the setting is one. But…" his voice trailed off. "Oh, never mind. How about a wee dram, we must toast each other and the coming birth of your first child Matthew," and he rang the bell for McCree.

0-0-0-0-0-0

The train trip back started off well, but midway in their journey, Mary's nagging backache began to worsen. And when the discomfort turned to unmistakable waves of pain an hour out from their arrival at Downton, Matthew called for the conductor to fetch Anna through from the third class carriage, and upon her arrival, she saw straight away that her lady was in the early stages of labour.

"M'Lady," she said firmly. "When we arrive we need to go straight to the hospital all right? I think your baby has decided that it is time!"

"Now?" Mary looked aghast, reaching for Matthew's hand. "I've still a month to go!"

"That may be. But little ones don't always abide by the rules!" Anna tucked a cushion behind Mary's back to give her a little more support.

Matthew looked equally aghast: An early baby? Would it be all right? And was everything ready? And why now, when Cora was back up in Scotland! And when was Mother due back? Was it yesterday? He couldn't remember what she had said. Oh, my goodness. How were they going to manage? _Mother, please, please be back from visiting your cousin!_

Another pain overcame Mary and she clutched Matthew's hand even tighter. "Lots of deep breaths, m'Lady," Anna said reassuringly. "We're not too far away!"

"And thank goodness for that," Matthew said fervently, his anxiety level climbing every time his wife experienced another pain.

"How do you know these things?" Mary remarked a short time later, as, after a particularly sharp pain, Anna suggested she stand, as it would help to ease her discomfort. Anna stood alongside to steady her against the rocking of the train.

"I mean, I should, of course," Mary continued. "I helped with birthing women who were unwell when I was a VAD at the hospital," she took another deep breath, "but they were all well into labour and had complications, so I never saw what happened in the early stages."

"I am an older child in a family of ten, m'Lady," Anna replied, holding Mary's elbow firmly as the train went around a curve. "Me and my sister attended at the birth of the two youngest. And we also had to help our Aunt with a couple of hers. No such thing as going to a lying-in hospital for our sort!"

"Oh," Mary was a little amazed to hear just how much Anna had seen. It was rare that she ever spoke of her childhood. But on the other hand, Mary realised with a sudden pang, how often had she asked her maid and friend about her early years?

"Well of course," she said brightly to cover her embarrassment. "You are a woman of experience! And I'd love to hear more about that," she winced and doubled over as another wave of pain began. "But perhaps not now!"

When the train arrived, Barrow hurried to find Robert's Chauffeur Mr Brickell and organised for him to drive Mary and Anna immediately to the hospital and then come back for the luggage.

Returning to the station platform, he found Matthew waiting for him by the station office. The conductor who had witnessed what was unfolding had helped him out of the carriage and accompanied him along the platform to see to their luggage.

"The station staff will keep an eye on our trunks until Brickell can see them home," Matthew informed his Valet. "You and I need to get up to the hospital."

They quickly decided going on foot would be faster than waiting for Brickell, and Barrow retrieved Matthew's wheelchair and brought it over to him.

"Did Mary get to the motor all right?" Matthew asked worriedly as they left the station, Barrow pushing him a little faster than usual.

"She did, Sir," Barrow reassured him. "Remarkably calm, all things considered! Anna helped of course. She's plenty of experience where birthing is concerned."

Shortly after they arrived, Anna came out to meet them in the waiting room. "Mr Crawley, Sir," she began. "Lady Mary's waters have broken. The baby is not going to be long! Do you know if Mrs Crawley is back from her trip? Lady Mary is asking for her. And she also asked if you could call her Ladyship."

What Anna did not say, not wanting to further alarm the already anxious Mr Crawley was that Dr Clarkson was still out tending a farm emergency, and Doctor Green, the only other medic on duty, had been called away minutes before they had arrived to attend a birth on the other side of the village.

Matthew gave a sharp intake of breath. "Of course. Thank you, Anna!" He reached for his sticks and stood up, returning to the reception desk to ask to use the telephone. Starting first with a call to Crawley House, he was enormously relieved that his mother was indeed back from her trip. Isobel promised to come as soon as she could. And now, Cora: Surprised at his own nervousness, Matthew had to work at keeping his voice calm as he asked the operator to put a call through to Duneagle, and to transfer the charge to the Vicarage. One of Shrimpie's footmen answered, and it was a few minutes before he was able to locate Cora and put her on the line. Cora was at once thrilled and concerned and promised to get herself on the next possible train.

Returning to the waiting room, Barrow was the only one there. "Would you like me to go home and organise the unpacking, or wait here with you Sir," he asked.

"Wait with me," Matthew felt a little lost. He sat back down in his chair. It was very different to how it had been with Edith: her labour had been long; at various points it had seemed the entire family had been keeping vigil: he had spent the final evening enjoying convivial conversation and more than a few glasses of Anthony's finest claret in the masculine, but comfortable drawing room at Loxley before the happy news was relayed downstairs to the men shortly before midnight.

The antiseptic white of the Downton hospital waiting room made a stark contrast, and there were no books, and no whisky or other tipple to hasten away the time.

He sighed and drummed his fingers together. "Barrow. What on earth am I supposed to do?"

"It's not a matter with which I am familiar," his Valet replied, his lips twitching ever so slightly. "But from what I hear it's a waiting game for the man, and hard work for the lady!"

Matthew chuckled in spite of his nerves. They chatted a bit, and at one point Barrow went in search of tea for them both, but most of the time was spent in tense silence.

Matthew was very pleased when his mother arrived, and she promised to check on Mary and then come back and let him know how she was going. She was smiling when she returned. "It's going very well. And it won't be too long now. Mary might ask for you. Will you want to be with her if she does?"

"Of course!" Matthew spluttered. "Will the Doctor allow it?"

"The Doctor isn't there, Matthew," Isobel replied brightly. "The duty midwife, Miss Dunne, is there, and she will take her instructions from the patient."

"Where is he?" Matthew was shocked to hear his wife had no Doctor in attendance.

"Attending an emergency at the Drewe farm I understand. A farm hand was crushed when a cattle beast was being moved," Isobel's face fell. "Don't worry, my dear. Miss Dunne is highly experienced. As am I, remember," she chided gently.

Matthew heard Mary cry out for him, followed by a blood-curdling shriek a couple of hours later.

He went pale and looked at Barrow. "Go!" said Barrow, gesturing the corridor, and Matthew needed no further encouragement. He arrived at the door to her room just as Isobel was opening it to come and fetch him.

"Take her hand," she instructed. "And for god's sake keep calm," she motioned him into the room and walked quickly back to where she had been supporting Mary.

"Matthew, thank god you're here," Mary said hoarsely. She was sitting, legs apart, on the edge of the bed her face red from exertion, and her hair untidy about her face. She was trembling like a leaf. She let out another bellow of pain as another contraction began, leaning back against Anna, and Isobel who was saying encouragingly, "Breath Mary! That's my girl!"

Matthew, meanwhile, had positioned himself on Mary's other side. The contractions were coming quickly now, and every time one came she shrieked and squeezed his hand so hard he half expected it to break. He was at once both alarmed and amazed. Here she was. His storm braver! Enduring pain that looked to him at least as bad as what he had suffered early in his return critically injured from the war. But going with it. Unafraid! Pain for something good.

Things began to happen, and Miss Dunne was saying calmly, "Lady Mary, it's time to push. Now my dear! One, two, three…" Matthew couldn't believe she could shriek so loud, and his heart went out to her as he saw how much more intense it had suddenly become. She was holding tight to both his hands now.

"And again!" said Miss Dunne, who was down on her knees now checking Mary's progress, towels at the ready. "Your baby is almost here," and then after one last huge effort from Mary, Miss Dunne exclaimed and Mary fell back exhausted.

And then there was another noise. A soft mewling noise and Miss Dunne was lifting a wriggling baby up and gently wiping the blood from its face. She wrapped the child, umbilical cord still attached, in a soft cloth.

"Lady Mary, Mr Crawley," she said softly. "You have a baby son!" and as soon as Isobel and Anna had Mary settled comfortably back against the pillows on the bed, she placed the infant on Mary's chest.

"Oh my darling," Mary murmured looking at her son her eyes wide with delight. "Welcome to the world!" And elated, thrilled and a little tearful, the new parents held each other and gazed rapturously at their new arrival.

Barely minutes later, there was a knock at the door, and Doctor Clarkson hurried in. "How is the progress?" he said worriedly. "I'm so sorry I wasn't here!" The frown on his face changed to surprise when he saw Matthew, and then pleasure when he realised the baby had been safely delivered.

"Doctor Clarkson," Miss Dunne was smiling widely. "All is well. Very well indeed! And here," she waved the scissors she had just uplifted from her tray. "You are just in time to cut the baby's cord!"

"I would be honoured," Doctor Clarkson smiled back.

When, a few hours later, the birth process and all that necessarily followed was at last complete, Mary and Matthew found themselves alone with their son. Matthew was entranced watching his son nursing at Mary's breast, and he chuckled when the infant broke off, gave a little snuffle followed by a delightful little yawn and promptly fell asleep. "My dearest little chap," Matthew reached to gently stroke his forehead. "I don't think you have any idea how much joy you have brought us!"

Mary pulled her shawl around her shoulders to cover herself and rearranged the baby more comfortably in the crook of her arm. "So very true!" she said softly "And just think how much joy you will bring the rest of your family as well!" she looked down at the child lovingly. "Your Grand Papa for one," she placed a finger in his tiny hand and smiled as his perfect digits wrapped around it. She looked at Matthew. "We've done our duty. Haven't we, Matthew? Downton is safe. Papa will be dancing a jig when he hears!"

"I'm dancing a jig! I feel like I swallowed a box of fireworks," the words caught in Matthew's throat, and he gazed at Mary, his blue eyes very bright. "You are going to be such a wonderful mother. Do you ever wonder how happy you've made me? I fall more in love with you with every day that passes," he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it gently.

"And you, my darling, have made me very happy too. And now look at what we have made together. We are a family now, Matthew!" Mary's eyes shone.

"I had the fun part. It is you who has done all the work," he quipped mischievously, and Mary giggled. "Oh, you are so very naughty, Mr Crawley! But yes! On this matter, I have done the lion's share. And for that, I think I've earned a decent kiss!"

"You most certainly have," her husband murmured, and he leant across and began to give her a very decent and very long kiss indeed.

0-0-0-0-0-0

The early weeks with their new infant passed by in a blur of exhaustion and extreme happiness. Neither of them was prepared for the depth of love they would feel for what they regarded as their miracle child. They were unfazed by the interrupted nights being well used to broken sleep after the intense years of the war. And besides: what could be more pleasurable than waking to care for such a gorgeous little bundle that rewarded them with bright eyes and soft cooing?

After much to and fro, they settled on the names George Reginald, and on a still, grey spring morning, they gathered at the baptismal font in the village church for his Christening, returning afterwards for a celebratory morning tea at the Vicarage.

With Isobel's support and encouragement, Mary chose to continue to nurse George herself breaking with the tradition her mother and Grandmother had followed of assigning the task early to a wet nurse. Cora was initially disapproving, but after seeing the sheer joy and delight that Mary took in nursing her son, she changed her mind and became quite supportive of her daughter's efforts.

Matthew found it extremely difficult to leave them each morning for the office, and he loved nothing more than being part of George's bedtime routine when he returned each night.

Mrs Johnson, George's nanny, was initially taken aback by the close attention George got from his father, and Matthew's eagerness to help with all the baby tasks. He'd even insisted on learning to change his nappies, saying that as he and Mary took responsibility for George overnight, he had better know what to do. But secretly she was pleased to see such a doting father. "It's rare, that is," she said to Daisy and Anna, over luncheon one day in the Vicarage's sunny kitchen. "Most gentlemen have as little to do with their children as possible until they're walking and talking!"

"Mr Crawley's not most gentlemen," said Anna with a grin. "And I'll bet you. George will be a far better boy for it."

"I do believe you're right me lass," said Mrs Johnson. "Me own husband Archie, he liked to be hands-on with the bairns, and we're pleased as punch with our two loving sons, grown up as they are now," she said with pride.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Sybil and Tom's reunion at Euston station one Friday late in March was a very happy one. Thrilled to see each other they hugged and laughed and exclaimed as the throngs moved around them on the platform.

"Just look at you!" Tom stood back and surveyed her admiringly. "You've got a new outfit!" he ran an approving eye over the well-cut blue coat and matching hat and shoes his wife was wearing. Sybil giggled. "One of the advantages of Mary needing something to do before the baby came," she explained. "She made me sit down with Esther Pearson for her to design me a new outfit. And then she took me to York to buy matching shoes!"

"Well it's truly lovely," Tom gave her an impulsive kiss. "That shade of blue shows off your eyes beautifully," he paused. "Speaking of Mary, I can't wait to see the new baby."

"Well, you won't have to wait long," Sybil replied. "We're going up to the Vicarage on the last train this evening. I checked with your work, and your next shift isn't until Tuesday," and linking arms, they headed towards the front of the train to retrieve Tom's luggage.

It was on that following Tuesday that Tom's colleague Jonty sauntered up to him at lunchtime and said, "You free for a catch-up? Something's coming up I thought you should know about," and mystified, Tom, fetched his hat and coat and the two men headed for the public house on the next street corner.

"It's in connection with Sir Richard Carlisle's trial," Jonty began in a low voice immediately the pair had taken their seats. "Very hush hush. If you look at the roster, you'll see all of us are down to work the night before. But the boss won't say why. He got cagey when I asked."

"How do you even know?" Tom asked intently.

"A man I've never seen before went into his office two days ago. I heard him mention Carlisle just as Lansbury was closing the door, so of course, my ears pricked up. And after he left, Lansbury went straight to Miss Wells to talk about the roster."

"Hmm," Tom frowned. Jonty had an uncanny way of knowing when something was up. "What's the word on the street?"

"Well, Benson thinks something similar is up at _The Guardian_," Jonty grinned. "Because a whole lot of their news staff had their rosters changed too! He said he's putting money on Carlisle changing his plea. But Lord knows why of course."

Tom gulped and an odd feeling came over him. Was it possible? Even remotely plausible that the investigations Matthew and Mary had done into Carlisle last year had something to do with this? He really wasn't sure. He hadn't seen them mention the man for so long now. Not since the awful affair with Robert. No. Surely not. But the odd feeling persisted and he felt strangely uncomfortable.

"What is it, Branson?" Jonty grinned. "See a ghost? You've gone all serious!"

"What? Oh. Nope. This business just reminded me of how careful I had to be in Ireland with the information I got. Clean desk, locking files and all that!" he raised an eyebrow.

"Yep. Well, I'm all ears," Jonty smirked. "Quite a coup you got, two months in a hotel and all your meals paid! And I heard from Smithy you got chased by the Black and Tans! And then your photographs saw them charged with assault!"

"Aye," Tom grinned. "Something like that, although it wasn't me who got beaten up," he frowned. "Thugs they are. Do you know that? War damaged, I'll bet. A pretty sick way to employ former soldiers if you ask me," he scowled. "Sending them to Ireland to make trouble! But don't talk about it outside of work, will you? Sybil doesn't know, and I'd like to keep it that way."

0-0-0-0-0-0

As the week of Carlisle's trial approached, Matthew felt his anxiety begin to climb again. The combination of broken sleep, a heavy workload and extra duties helping out with the estate decision making in Mary's absence was beginning to wear him down. Even news from Lord Gillingham that Mr Green had finally agreed to make a statement that added further to the evidence against the Marquess of Doncourt did little to cheer him.

Mary, to his relief, was a lot less worried: she seemed genuinely not to care, so focused she was on their new child.

No wonder then that he ended up unwell. Here he was. At home, in bed, nursing a heavy cold on the first day of Carlisle's trial. _Trust that it had to be this week,_ he thought darkly. He had been looking forward to it. Closure at last on the tawdry affair that had dragged on for more than a year now.

Barrow had sent him to bed, insisting he stay there until he was properly well. "You can't risk this going to your chest, Sir," he had said firmly when Matthew had protested.

"As if!" Matthew had grumbled. "This is a head cold, through and through," and even as he said it he felt another sneeze coming on.

But now, into the third day, and still feeling very much under the weather, he was glad of Barrow's caution. He had a dull headache and his eyes hurt. And he was missing George: Despite Mary suggesting a cuddle would be all right, Matthew hadn't let her bring him in: he didn't want to risk his precious young son catching what he had. All in all, he felt very grumpy and sorry for himself.

Barrow had left him a cup of tea and the morning paper, and with a handkerchief at the ready to dab at his streaming eyes, Matthew made himself read the headline on the front page of _The York Herald._

_CARLISLE ON TRIAL ON TREASON CHARGE; Newspaper Baron Sir Richard Carlisle Is Arraigned Before the Old Bailey for Plotting with the Enemy. DEATH PENALTY IS POSSIBLE Trial Is Expected to Last Some Weeks._

His annoyance at not being there grew as he read the rest of the article. He attempted to read some of the other news items, but his eyes began to stream again and he was forced to lie back and rest them once more. There was nothing for it. He would simply have to wait. And hope it all went as they expected.

0-0-0-0-0-0

He saw the man a good few minutes before he recognised him. Something about the slightly furtive way he entered the Court's foyer had immediately caught his attention. He watched him idly as he came closer, weaving through the throng of people. The Court was busy this morning. And no wonder: the long anticipated treason trial of Sir Richard Carlisle, newspaper baron, and Mr Kenneth Watson, previously esteemed war correspondent, was shortly to begin. The man disappeared up the stairway, and it was only when he reappeared at the top of the stairs opposite where Edward stood did he realise it was Roy.

"Roy, old chap!" Edward straightened up and his face broke into a smile. "What are you doing here?"

"Ah, well… dropping something off," Roy stared at him, frowning a little. "You here for the trial?" he asked. "Representing someone?"

"Hell, no," Edward grinned. "Boss said I should come and watch. A trial this sensational is a rare thing. A chap can learn a lot from seeing the seasoned experts do it."

"Of course," Roy answered distractedly, and Edward had the odd feeling Roy hadn't heard anything he had said at all. He seemed nervous. He kept glancing at him and then away again as if he wasn't quite sure what to do. "Roy, are you all right?" Edward began. "You…"

"Just give this to my father," Roy interrupted. "You'll see him. He'll be in the gallery somewhere. Just give it to him. Say it's from me. He slid a small envelope into the top of the leather folio Edward had clutched to his chest.

"Of course. But…" Edward suddenly realised he had absolutely no idea what Roy's father looked like. In fact, he couldn't even remember the man's name.

"Please. That's all I ask," his tone was almost pleading, and Edward felt an acute sense of unease. He swallowed. "Roy, what's going on? And what does your father…"

"Thanks. Thanks, Eddie," Roy interrupted and he was already turning to go. He took a few rapid steps back towards the stairway where he paused and looked back. "You've been a good friend Eddie. Remember that," and then he walked rapidly away.

"Roy!" Eddie called after him frustrated and now certain that something was very wrong. "Roy! I don't know his name!" He tried to follow him but found himself caught in the throng of people pushing towards the gallery entrance.

Edward glanced at his wristwatch. "Damn," he muttered feeling torn. The trial was due to start in less than five minutes and he did not want to miss a single minute of it. He looked in vain for Roy again, and couldn't see him; his progress now at a stop such was the crowd. "Damn!" he muttered again. _I'll call in on him later,_ he sighed and promised himself. Roy's home was only a few miles from the Court and he could do so when the session finished. Tightening his hold on his leather folio, he followed the remaining stragglers into the Courtroom. To his relief, there was a single seat remaining on a row near the front, and it was only seconds later that the gavel was banged and the Courtroom brought to order.

"The prisoners will stand," the words were loud in the wood-panelled chamber, and it was to Sir Richard that the first indictment was read.

"You, Sir Richard Mark Carlisle of Brompton Road, Chelsea, London stand accused of war treason for passing classified British military information into German hands. You are charged on three counts:

On the first, information as to the intended movements of the Third Army III Corps and IV Corps in November 1917 at Cambrai. On the second, information on the intended tactics of the Fifth Army's First Edinburgh division; the Liverpool Regiment and the East Yorkshire Regiment at Arras and St Quentin in March 1918; and on the third, the movements of the 40th Division at Lys in April 1918.

The Crown alleges that you and your co-defendant Kenneth Watson organised for the retrieval and exchange of this information through the blackmail of Lieutenant Lewis Maynall junior military attaché, now deceased, to General Sir Hubert Gough.

"Should you be found guilty on these charges, you are liable to be sentenced to death.

"What do you plead?"

There was a sudden hush in the Court. Sir Richard Carlisle felt the eyes of every single person in that crowded chamber trained on him. He swallowed, a little surprised at his own nerves. He kept his eyes on the Judge, well away from the confident stares of the group of well-dressed gentlemen seated in the public gallery slightly to his right. And well away from his two lawyers, who had their files open and pens at the ready. Pity all their hard work.

He took a deep breath and readied himself. It was time.

In the stillness and tension of the moment, Arthur Farnham's eyes flicked furtively around the courtroom, searching again for the four gentlemen he had only ever seen in photographs. This time he finally recognised them, in the gallery far to his right. The tall, white-haired man with his elegant top hat had to be the Marquess of Doncourt. And the greasy haired gent next to him, all chin and jowls, was surely Viscount Trent. He thought he recognised Lord Windemere too, but try as he must, he couldn't identify Viscount Rochester. He had to be one of the men near the rest of them, surely. He felt a shudder of distaste. What a nasty lot they were. And soon to be exposed, although quite how, and whether it would occur today or at some point later in the course of the trial, he had no idea. His head jerked up as he heard Sir Richard Carlisle clear his throat and he looked back at him expectantly.

"Guilty." The words rang out. Loud and clear.

The court erupted in an uproar. The wigged and robed Messrs Howard and Hunter leapt to their feet in alarm. The members of the jury turned to each other in surprise. And up in the public gallery, Edward saw to his immense satisfaction that the colour had drained from Lord Doncourt's face and the faces of several of the men around him.

"Order. Order!" the Judge was forced to bang his gavel several times. "Order!" A Court clerk hurried over to the Judge and handed him a note. Donning his spectacles, the Judge quickly read it, and then peering back at Sir Richard Carlisle, he said, "I have here a note from the public solicitor. I understand that you wish to have read to the Court a revised statement of facts. In light of your plea, I see no reason not to allow it," he looked at Sir Richard Carlisle's lawyers, both of whom looked at each other and then shook their heads slightly. A little annoyed, the Judge turned back to Sir Richard.

"But as it appears your change of plea is a surprise to your own barristers," he continued, "Do I take it that you wish to read your own statement of facts?"

"That is correct, your Lordship," Sir Richard bowed his head, and his hands shaking slightly, he waited for the Clerk to hand him his statement and then he began.

Arthur found himself growing hot as the prisoner read the revised statement of facts. His face burning, he looked down at his lap, lest someone recognise the words as his own. For it was Sir Richard Carlisle who was his secret client, and the statement he was reading out word for word, was Arthur's careful summary of the facts. He couldn't believe it. The man was reading evidence against himself. He'd wondered if it might be Mr Kenneth Watson, who had far more chance of a fairer hearing by the Court, or perhaps Lord Browning or Viscount Chesterfield, the newspaper shareholders that had found out and managed to stop further leaking of military information, but at the cost of their reputations when Carlisle had later begun a smear campaign in retribution. At the point at which Sir Richard read out from his statement the names of the four gentlemen whose illegal business interests he had been forced to protect, there was again an uproar in the court.

"The man is lying! Stop him!" Viscount Thomas Trent thundered, his outburst having the unfortunate effect of drawing immediate attention to the fact that the gentlemen to whom Carlisle was referring were actually in the Court. The uproar grew louder, and the press that was present began to take photographs before court officials threatened them with expulsion unless they stopped.

"Order. Order!" the Judge thundered, banging his gavel once more. "Order!"

And when finally there was silence, he said, "The prisoner will continue."

There was a crush leaving the Court when the Judge adjourned the proceedings after remanding Sir Richard Carlisle for sentencing. With Kenneth Watson's arraignment still to go, Edward had the unmistakeable feeling it was going to be a long and very exciting afternoon. He knew from what Alex Green had said in his statement, that yes, he had threatened to kill Mr Watson's family, including going so far as firing bullets into his family's living room to scare the war correspondent into seeking out and leaking the information. Also in Alex Green's statement, were the two men who had put him up to it: Lord Doncourt and Sir Richard Carlisle. And Edward knew that information would have somehow made it into any revised statement of facts Mr Watson would read out if indeed he did as Carlisle had, and changed his plea to guilty.

Lost in thought, he didn't realise that the crowd leaving the court had stopped suddenly, and he tripped on someone's foot and lost his grip on his folio as he put out his one functioning arm to break his fall. To Edward's dismay, the folio burst open spilling the papers onto the floor. The crowd lurched forward again, shoes stepping on the paper and ripping some of them. Horrified, he saw the envelope that Roy had left for him to give to his father tear slightly and burst open as someone's shoe dislodged the wax seal.

"Blast!" Edward exclaimed as he tried frantically to rescue his papers, pushing against people's legs in the process. Seeing what had happened, a young man bent down next to him and began to help, and shortly all the papers, some ripped and dirty, had been retrieved.

"Thank you," Edward said, at last, breathing hard, as the young man handed him back his folio. "I've never seen a crowd in this Court behaving like this!"

"Well, that's why old chap," the young man jerked his head toward where they could now see a group of police officers busy handcuffing the Marquess of Doncourt, Viscount Thomas Trent and two other gentlemen that had been sitting with them, the names of which Edward always struggled to remember. "I have a feeling this will go down as the trial of the year!" the young man was saying.

Edward stared, and a minute later he uttered, "Oh, for heaven's sake!" For one of the men in the process of being handcuffed had just spoken, and something about his voice and his mannerisms reminded him immediately of Roy. Viscount Rochester. Of course. How could he have forgotten? Fucking hell! Viscount Rochester was Roy's father. Should he give him the note? It was what Roy had wanted, wasn't it? Shaking, Edward stumbled towards a nearby bench. Sitting down, he placed his folio beside him and began rifling through it, looking for the battered envelope. The note had fallen out of it, but thanks to the helpful young man, both note and envelope had been safely returned. Opening it flat, he tried to smooth the note out with his fist, hoping to tidy it enough to hand it on. And it was then that he saw what was written and he inhaled sharply.

"No," he muttered as he read, growing more and more alarmed. "No, Roy. No!" and leaping to his feet, Edward began to run.

_Papa._

_When you receive this I will be gone. I must be gone, as I cannot live and have to face Mama when she finds out it was me whose evidence has put you behind bars for treason. You and your fellow death merchants. You make me ashamed, Papa. Your deceit. Your duplicity. A 'patron' for our village's war effort whilst you raked in illegal profits at the expense of me and every other British soldier that fought: In a war that you were complicit in prolonging._

_Rot in hell, Papa. And before God sends you there, know every day that you have left on this earth that you have my blood and the blood of every other British soldier who died on your hands._

_Roy_

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"It's been a good day, lads," George Lansbury smiled widely at his team of newsroom journalists. "The phone has been running hot from all our agents wanting further copies, and even with that extra run late this morning, the news agent's are saying they've sold out!" The article, its headline reading "_Peers Accused of War Treason: Why we confessed"_ had been published under the penmanship of Mr Kenneth Watson and Sir Richard Carlisle, with the hurried surrounding commentary hastily put together by _The Herald's_ journalists overnight. Mr Lansbury was right. It was, in no doubt, the read of the year.

Tom could not stop grinning. He had no idea how, but he knew that his wife's sister and brother-in-law had played some part in bringing it all about, and that made him proud. He also knew that to say so publicly was something he could never and would never do. Instead, he joined in with the celebrations, toasting the demise of the 'death merchants' as Mr Lansbury proclaimed them. It had indeed been a good day. For peace, and for justice, and for the rule of law.

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"They found him," Evelyn announced, walking back into the drawing room, where Matthew was propped up on the sofa under a rug, a glass of water and several clean handkerchiefs that Barrow had just brought in on the table alongside. Evelyn looked pale and drawn, and Matthew feared for the worst. He had arrived an hour earlier after Barrow had telephoned, saying Matthew was asking could he come immediately: an upsetting call from Edward - something about their friend Roy.

"Is, is…?" he bit out, unable to complete the question.

"He's alive," Evelyn replied quickly. "He's not well. But the Doctors think he will be all right," he sat down tiredly. Looking across at Matthew, he continued. "They found him semi-conscious in his car," Evelyn swallowed. He'd put a hose on the tailpipe," his voice cracked a little. "Luckily it was a soft top car, and it wasn't a very good seal," Evelyn gave a heavy sigh. "So once they got him out, they were able to revive him quite quickly. He's in hospital. Eddie and Alfred are there with him now."

"Good God," Matthew swallowed. He was vaguely aware he was shaking. "Viscount Rochester. It was his father. Doncourt's partner in crime."

"That's right," Evelyn's voice was stricken. "The poor bastard. Four years in hell. Invalided back with a body full of shrapnel, and then the last couple of years battling nightmares and depression about the men he lost. To then find out that his dear Papa was colluding with the Germans," Evelyn's voice trailed off and he stared into the distance. "I mean. Can you imagine that? Really imagine that? What faith would you have left? Your own father?"

"I…" Matthew's voice shook. "I… I can't imagine. It's just too fucking awful."

"Neither can I," Evelyn said grimly. He took a deep breath and looked at Matthew with a serious expression. "But dear old Roy, brooding and melancholy as we've only ever known him, thought only of his mother and feared that she would feel betrayed if he outed his father. Thought his own death was the better way out."

"And of course he had no idea of knowing it was Carlisle who would use the evidence he found, and that in Carlisle confessing, his role in it could stay a secret," Matthew reflected.

"But he will know that now, won't he?" Evelyn pressed.

"I imagine that Edward will tell him everything once he is recovered enough to take it in," Matthew replied. "I just hope he can find a way back through this darkness. Face life again," he shook his head sadly. "I can't bear the thought of the blasted war and all the ugliness that came with it claiming another victim," and Evelyn soberly agreed.

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"What are we supposed to do with this tripe?" Tom could barely contain his rage as he and Mr Lansbury looked over the papers that had arrived anonymously alleging that Sir Richard Carlisle had engaged in lewd sexual acts with a young boy who had later disappeared. Two grainy photographs, showing them both leaving a hotel, were part of the sordid package.

"The man's dead, for god's sake," Tom bit out. "Is this all the Marquess of Doncourt can cough up in his own defence?"

Mr Lansbury sighed. "Looks like it. I guess we just need to decide whether or not to take the bait," and the two men sat back, contemplating the drama that had unfolded in the weeks since the sentencing at which Sir Richard Carlisle and Mr Kenneth Watson had had their sentences commuted from death to penal servitude. A significantly shortened prison term had been awarded, Mr Watson.

And it was now a week to the day since the Marquess of Doncourt, Viscount Trent, Lord Windemere and Viscount Rochester had appeared in the dock at The Old Bailey charged with high treason. And a week to the day upon which Sir Richard Carlisle was found hanging in his cell.

"What do you think, Branson?" Mr Lansbury asked at last. "We're getting good coverage with that series you've been doing on arms profiteering following that case going on in America. And of course the on-going stories on the Irish situation. Jonty's got good stuff underway on the socialists. Do we need this?"

"You know," Tom said thoughtfully. "If we were one of Carlisle's own papers, I'd probably say yes. But our paper? No. I don't think so. Why kick a dead man? He can't defend himself. If you want my opinion, Sir, I say let's not. Let's not take the bait. We've enough to sell the papers without this."

And across town, it seemed that _The Guardian_ had decided to do the same. And Benson, of course, had let them know.

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"Hello, darling!" Mary greeted her husband as he arrived home from work one warm fine evening in early June and found her sitting in the sun on the terrace. "You're home sooner than I thought. How was the day?"

"Full on," Matthew replied tiredly, lowering himself into the cane chair opposite her with a groan. "Three back to back meetings, two of which were tough going," he leant back and closed his eyes momentarily. "So when the last one finished I decided to call it a day," he yawned. "Anyway, how was your day?" he opened his eyes again and looked at her.

"I've had a few visitors," Mary smiled. "Isobel and Granny this morning, as usual. Edith and Anthony for luncheon, and then an unexpected visit this afternoon! And look what my unexpected visitors gave us for George!" she unwrapped a small package beside her on the patio table and lifted up some baby clothes to show him. "Any guesses as to who they were?" she asked playfully.

"No idea," Matthew said, admiring the knitted jacket and matching bonnet.

"The Cooke's," Mary smirked. "Mrs Cooke made these," she stroked the soft green wool with her finger. "And she spoke too! More words at once than I think I have ever heard her utter in all the other times I've seen her put together!"

Matthew began to laugh. "Harry is in the new cottage finally, I take it. Am I right?"

"You are," Mary smiled, and then sighed. "In there a month now. And what a difference it's made. And will keep making."

"How did Mr Brougham manage it?" Matthew asked, interested. "Knowing how stubborn Mrs Appilton has been about not wanting to move, and of course how proud the Cooke's both are."

"Well, Mr Brougham gave Mrs Appilton a choice. He showed her a cottage like hers that had been fixed up and explained that was what was planned for hers, and that her rental would increase only slightly after the refurbishment. He then took her down to the larger cottage and made a bit of a thing about how it would cost a little more again, but as there was a child now he thought having an extra bedroom might be helpful, and that's why as landlords we felt we should be offering up such a different property. He told me she was barely in the front door when she said yes!"

"So your sneaky little scheme came off," Matthew's lips twitched. "And who brought the flowers?" he eyed the bunch of pink roses that Anna was busy arranging into a vase.

"They were from Harry," Mary smirked. "He's thrilled about the raised gardens, and he told me proudly that they were their very first blooms."

"You did so well with it all," Matthew smiled.

"Oh, it wasn't just me!" Mary countered. "The paving and the raised gardens were Sybil's ideas. She's got a real way about her you know! Got Mr Brougham to do some nice little extras like that which made all the difference," she continued. "French doors, instead of a back door and a window off the kitchen were another one of her brainwaves. Mrs Cooke wouldn't stop talking about it. Said it's become their favourite room."

"Come here and kiss me," Matthew held his arms out. "Them visiting is a reward. For your kind-heartedness!"

"Oh pfft," Mary stood up and moved across to him. She arranged herself carefully in his lap and leant her head against his. "The reward for me was hearing her and Harry talking about having more children when they were admiring George. And when I think where Harry was a year ago, and where he is now, well," Mary swallowed the lump in her throat and she leant closer into Matthew. "That's my reward."

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It was early morning. Mary had been up to change George, and returning to bed she sat up and nursed him, but rather than settle back to sleep as was his usual pattern after this feed, he cooed and gurgled and looked about happily from her lap, waving his arms and legs.

"Don't know where he gets his energy from," she said sleepily to the motionless lump next to her in the bed. She sighed and began to re-lace the bodice of her nightgown. "Now, am I going to try and settle him, or are you?" The plaintive tone of her voice cut through the delicious half asleep haze Matthew had been enjoying, and with a little grumble and then a groan he sat up slowly, and eyed the pair of them. Midweek she would never push, but the weekends were a different matter, and despite the inviting warmth of the covers on this cool June morning, he felt a fatherly obligation to do his bit.

He reached for the spare pillows and arranged them behind his back, and once he was comfortable, he lifted George out of his wife's arms and stood him gently on his lap.

The dark hair he had been born with was long gone now, and in its place wisps of soft gold were appearing. "Just like you at this age," Isobel had reminisced to Matthew when she had first noticed it a few weeks prior. He was bonny, too, "just like you," which much to Matthew's chagrin, Isobel seemed far too keen to point out to whoever was admiring the youngster: George grew chubbier by the day thanks to his mother's nourishing and plentiful milk. Mary, for one, was pleased: George was a picture of health and after only a few months of nursing, she was already able to fit back into many of her clothes.

"Now George," Matthew jiggled him slightly. "Five o'clock on a Saturday morning really isn't the time to be seeking your parent's attention," he pretended to scold. "Your Mama, for one, needs her beauty sleep!"

"Beauty what?" Mary blinked in disbelief, flopping back against the pillows for effect. "Black circles permanently under my eyes, my hair starting to fall out in great handfuls and my figure gone to the pack?" whilst she spoke in jest there was an unmistakable edge to her voice.

George cooed and waved his little hands too.

"That's right," Matthew continued, landing a quick kiss on his son's forehead. He held George up in front of him and jiggled him again. "Take no notice of that nonsense," he glanced sideways at his wife. "Because despite what she might say, your Mama IS very beautiful. Now. Before. Always!" George gurgled and blew some bubbles and Matthew began to laugh. "You agree with me, don't you little man? And I'll tell you something else. She's most beautiful of all when she's naked. Completely naked. With her hair down and no silly clothes to get in the way."

"Matthew!" Mary's eyes widened in shock. "You mustn't say that in front of our child!"

"I can, and I will," he said irreverently. "I figure I've got until he's a year or if I'm lucky maybe eighteen months before I run the risk of him parroting the wrong thing to one of the Grandmothers." He kissed George again and eyed her mischievously.

Mary stared at him, speechless. She opened and shut her mouth. Finding her voice, at last, she said, "You!" and her lips began to twitch. "You. Are. A wicked, wicked man!" and she gave a most unladylike snort of laughter. Matthew grinned and then to their complete astonishment and delight, little George chuckled. And as if pleased by his sound, he continued. His first ever! A bubbly little laugh, so infectious that Mary and Matthew began to laugh too. And they all continued to laugh helplessly until George gave a snort and then a choke and a cough and his laughter turned into a wail of distress as he tried to catch his breath.

"My dear little chap," Matthew blinked the tears of mirth from his eyes as he patted him soothingly against his shoulder, "Your first laugh! What a priceless moment!"

Mary leant in close to Matthew gently shushing George and kissing her young son on the forehead. "Thank you for saving that special moment just for us," she said softly. "Your Mama, **and** your Papa! I don't think you know yet just how much joy you bring! But know that you do and that you are so very loved," and Mary wrapped her arms around Matthew and George together.

"Have you ever known such happiness?" Matthew's voice was all depth and warmth. Mary shook her head slightly as she leant into him. "Oh no. No! And so very much more to come," and they held each other and their firstborn close, knowing that this was a moment they would remember and cherish forever.

Fini

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**Historical Notes:**

Third Army III Corps and IV Corps in November 1917 at Cambrai; Fifth Army's First Edinburgh division; Liverpool Regiment and the East Yorkshire Regiment at Arras and St Quentin March 1918; and the 40th Division at Lys in April 1918 - they were all battles in which the Allies initially took a hit (trying to match reality to my fiction...)

Oxford University conferred its first degrees for women (including many retrospectively) in a ceremony in October 1920. If I write another fic I hope to include Clarissa's day of triumph in it!

**Author's Note:**

Thank you SO much to all you have reviewed, favourited, followed and read this story, including those who have shared / liked / commented via Tumblr.

That's it! And I do hope you have enjoyed the ride - all two years of it…

I've learned more than I ever dreamed about WWI, society, economy, medicine &amp; rehabilitation, the Irish struggle for independence and of course the British aristocracy at the time doing the research.

Always appreciate reviews … am still wondering about possible sequels so ideas and suggestions welcome!

Thanks again for following and reading Made Different!

MMarieRose April 2017


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